


Undercurrent

by carriecmoney



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, American Football, F/M, Gen, M/M, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2593745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the fall semester of Marco's junior year of college, and the only thing that doesn't fall apart in his life is Friday morning office hours with his physics TA, Jean. College AU.<br/>AKA: Marco Bodt and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Semester</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ducks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: This is my NaNoWriMo novel for this year, so hopefully they'll be fast updates! I'm a little behind but hopefully I can catch up :) Also, this is about to be the most American thing (specifically, Southern) I ever wrote, so if y'all out-of-towners have any questions about the topics I raise, gimme a holler.
> 
> Some Links: [the western North Carolina accent](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAqm5ls8Ep8) [American football positions](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_football_positions) [vitiligo](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vitiligo) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

It was Wednesday of the first week of the fall semester, and Marco was fifteen minutes early to his physics lab. The class before hadn’t let out yet, so he leant against the wall next to the door between a flyer for the orienteering club and a fire extinguisher case, pulling out his phone to pass the time.

From: Numbah 21  
Did you eat yet  
Tues Aug 14, 6:14 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Oh right I should do that  
Tues Aug 14, 6:16 pm

From: Numbah 21  
Honestly how are you not dead yet  
Tues Aug 14, 6:16 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Honestly I have no idea. Im making a hot pocket  
Tues Aug 14, 6:18 pm

“Y’all lost or something?”

Marco looked up from his phone at the voice. A skinny white dude with bleached, spiked-up hair and a button down stood there, hand on his shoulderbag strap and thick eyebrows knit together. Marco smiled and shook his head as the door next to him opened and the previous lab poured out.

“No, I’ve got a class here next, but thanks.”

Spike raised his eyebrows and stepped aside to let the others by. “Huh.” Spike flicked his eyes over Marco’s football jacket, the sports bag at his feet, and shrugged. “All right, whatever.” He breezed past Marco into the now-empty classroom, leaving Marco blinking in the hallway before he shook himself out and followed.

Spike was talking to the previous class’s instructor about something, but Marco tuned them out as he found a lab table with a good view of the board and enough space to move the computer mouse to the left side of the keyboard. The other instructor left as Marco slung his jacket over the back of his chair, dug for a pencil, and juggled his phone as he beat some vegetable-related sense into Eren, the freshman quarterback he’d been assigned to as the babysitter by their coach. Eren was a ball of explosive talent just waiting for a fight, and Marco was the only one on the team Smith trusted to keep him from making local headlines before he had a chance to make national ones. If only the kid would eat actual food without Marco having to badger him into it.

From: Numbah 21  
That barely counts. Dont you have anything healthy  
Tues Aug 14, 6:20 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Sources say no  
Tues Aug 14, 6:21 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Maybe ill just eat the whole box  
Tues Aug 14, 6:22 pm

From: Numbah 21  
Eren no you are NOT eating four hot pockets  
Tues Aug 14, 6:23 pm

“So, what’s a football player doin’ in my physics II lab?”

Marco looked up from his phone again. Spike was leaning against the chalkboard, getting chalk dust all over his nice shirt, arms crossed as he stared at Marco, eyebrow cocked. Marco smiled, one corner higher than the other.

“Well, it’s a required course for my major?”

The grin fell off Spike’s face. “You mean you’re not coppin’ out on exercise science or some shit?”

Marco shook his head. “I figured if I’m doing this college thing, I might as well do it right.”

Spike frowned, fingers drumming on his arm. “Huh.”

A group of students came in the door, jerking Spike’s attention away. Marco rolled his eyes and went back to his phone.

From: Numbah 5  
What makes you think its a four pack  
Tues Aug 14, 6:24 pm

From: Numbah 21  
EREN NO  
Tues Aug 14, 6:26 pm

From: Numbah 5  
EREN YES!!!  
Tues Aug 14, 6:28 pm

From: Numbah 21  
If I wasnt in lab atm id smack the jesus out of you  
Tues Aug 14, 6:29 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Too late for that bro jesus left a long time ago  
Tues Aug 14, 6:30 pm

The class was clattering around Marco now, as lively as it got for a three-hour lab that starts at six thirty. Spike at the front smacked an open palm on the chalkboard and made everyone jump into silence. Spike grinned.

“Now that I have your attention.” A vague chuckle. “Thanks to all y’all for signing up for the shit spot. I know getting out after nine is never fun, but hey, at least you don’t have to grade papers afterwards like I do.” Another, less-vague chuckle. Spike dug in the tray for chalk. “A’right, so I’m Jean, your lab instructor. It’s my first time teachin’, so cut me a little slack.” He wrote out his full name on the board – Jean Kirschstein – as well as the section number for the lab. “I’ve got office hours in the Lindsay room Friday mornings, and I expect to see none a’ y’all there.” He scrawled ‘FRIDAY – 8-10 AM ’ on the board before dropping the chalk back in the tray and clapping the dust off his hands. “A’right, let’s get down to business.”

Jean leant forward on the front lab table, reading out from the syllabus the stuff he had to say or ‘the prof’ll shoot me’, the fluorescents winking off the bar through his cartilage. Marco bit the inside of his cheek and watched the way Jean’s face shifted as he spoke.

Even though his Wednesday went from ten in the morning to after nine, at least he’d have a pretty face to look at for the last three hours.

* * *

The dog days of summer in the Appalachian Mountains were hot and heavy, a clinging heat that drew out every drop of sweat to bead on the back of people’s necks in the beating midday sun. Football practice was right in the thick of that, drills run in the stifling humidity of four in the afternoon. Hydration was something every coach on the fifteen-person staff beat into their players’ heads, and water breaks were as encouraged as proper stretching and working hard enough to puke.

Water cooler gossip wasn’t just limited to a white collar cubicle world.

“Hey Bodt.” A clap on the back that made Marco choke on the Gatorade he was downing. Reiner, one of the offensive guards, patted him again to get it out before pouring his own paper cup from the cooler. “How’s babysitting the new kid going?”

Marco coughed and wiped his mouth on the hem of his undershirt. “It’s all right. Kid’s all kinds of crazy, though.” He glanced over to where the quarterbacks were still going, Eren and his vitiligo skin standing out like an evergreen in winter. He was getting chewed out for something by the tiny spitfire of a quarterback coach – as a running back and therefore closely tied to the fates of the quarterbacks, Marco had been on the receiving end of enough of those lectures to wince in sympathy.

Reiner followed his gaze and chuckled. “Looks like he’s a handful.”

“He needs, like, five handlers, I swear to God. He’d leave his head behind on the bench if it wasn’t attached to his neck.” Across the field, Eren opened his mouth in the middle of the quarterback coach’s speech. Both Marco and Reiner grimaced. “He’s got a lot to learn.”

“You said it.” Reiner finished off his Gatorade and crunched the paper cup into the open trash can waiting for it. “You wanna hit the weights tomorrow morning? I got a free Friday.”

Marco bit the inside of his cheek – he liked Reiner, a lot, but working out with someone a hundred pounds over his weight class had never played out well in the past, and Reiner had a competitive streak that would get him into the first round picks. “Uh, can’t. I got – office hours to go to.”

Reiner made a face. “Already? Damn, that sucks, dude.” The whistle blew for the call away from the sidelines back to practice. Marco tossed his cup into the trash can and shrugged.

“It happens. Sorry.” Marco took a rag from the bucket by the bench to wipe down his sweaty hair. Reiner had shrugged and turned away by the time he emerged again, going to harass the center, Bertl, about weightlifting instead. Marco’s shoulders dropped a fraction, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then he thought about what he said and wrinkled his nose.

Well, it _was_ early in the semester to be going to office hours, but he’d barely squeaked through his first physics lab on the second go-around, and taking both of them twice didn’t fit well in his plan to graduate on time. It couldn’t hurt to follow through on his last-second excuse and get a good start on the semester. He dropped the rag over the back of a bench and jogged onto the field.

* * *

When Marco opened the door to the Lindsay room just after eight on Friday morning, Jean was asleep at the conference table, head propped on his arms and bleached hair falling in his face. Marco snorted and let the door slam behind him, jerking Jean out of his doze and almost out of his chair.

“Jesus fuck!” Jean groaned and rubbed down his face, sprawling back in his rolling chair. Marco laughed and dropped his backpack in a chair catty-corner to Jean as he recovered.

“I thought you’d be more awake for this.”

“N’ I didn’t think I’d see anyone today.” Jean looked at him from between his fingers - had his eyes been so orange on Wednesday? “Fuck, it’s the first _week_ , Muscles. I thought I’d have to baby you, but really?” Marco crossed his arms and leant a hip on the table.

“Muscles?” Jean blinked a few times, ears going red. Marco bit his lip on a laugh and fell in the chair between his backpack and Jean, who put his face down on the table. Marco propped his temple up with two knuckles and waited for Jean to recover again. When Jean’s orange eyes peered out from beneath his bangs, Marco raised an eyebrow.

“M’Sorry.” Jean raked a hand through his hair, sitting back. “I’ve just gotten so used to nerds, I’ve got no idea what to do with an honest-to-God athlete.” Marco chuckled.

“Well, if you want the truth, I’m mostly here to get out of weightlifting with a monster, so I don’t actually have two hours of silly questions for you.”

Jean sighed, deflating across the table. “Thank God, ‘m _not_ ready to deal with that shit right now.”

Marco crossed his arms and leant back. “You’re the one who made their office hours as early as possible.”

Jean waved him off. “I had a late night.” He tugged on the metal stud in his earlobe. “So, what’s your name, Football?”

Marco smiled. “Marco, although I kinda like Muscles.” Jean wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue, ears blazing.

“Yeah, make fun of me all you want, but I’ll remember that when I’m gradin’ your lab reports.” Marco laughed, chin to his chest. Jean leant in, elbows on the table. “So, I’m dyin’ here. What major’re you in that requires my class?”

“Environmental science, pre-law.” Jean blinked, heavy eyebrows hidden under his hanging hair. Marco grinned. “I’m gonna save the whales.”

Jean snorted, eyes narrowed. “Really?”

“Well, maybe not whales, but, yeah.” Marco drummed his fingers on the table. “What about you, Spike the Nerd?”

Jean’s lip twitched, but he just flipped his (un-spiked) bangs from his eyes. “Double math-physics major. I’ll be here forever.”

Marco raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you _are_ a nerd.” Jean kicked his ankle under the table.

“Yeah, but I’m a nerd that’s gonna keep your ass from failin’.” Marco smiled at him; Jean coughed and tugged on the baby hair at the back of his neck. “Y’sure there ain’t nothin’ I can, like, go over with you or somethin’? I mean, while you’re here. And I’m here.”

Marco rubbed the side of his nose. “Well, truth be told, I didn’t do so hot in 1150, so - hopefully you won’t _have_ to baby me, but-”

“Hey.” Jean frowned at him, orange eyes pinning Marco to the seat. “Look, I’m here for you. For y’all. That’s literally what’m gettin’ paid for. I don’t mind holdin’ your hand through some things.” He winked. “Even if you skip the gym every now and then.”

Marco’s smiled quirked up, and he unzipped his backpack to fetch the textbook he’d thrown in there half for the weight. “Well, if you’re offering, I’m kinda rusty after a summer of training, so can we just go over a few things as a refresher?”

Jean smiled, a nice one that clashed with his haircut and his piercings, and spun a pencil on top of his thumb. “No prob, Muscles.”

* * *

The football team lived in a parallel world to the rest of campus during the fall semester. Most of the university was wrapped in their tie-dye shirts and Patagonia hammocks until the snow kicked in, but the players wove through the hackeysac circles in beelines from class, food, practice, and sleep. A few of them fed into the hippie lifestyle, but most of them didn’t know Radiohead from the Grateful Dead.  

Marco had gladly lived in his pigskin bubble for two years and change. White people with dreadlocks had always made him reel, and being worn out from practice or a game had been a great excuse to stay in his dorm on the weekends and catch up on his homework while the campus got drunk in the snow. The previous two years, he’d roomed with a baseball player who had a girlfriend in town and was in their room approximately five minutes a week, which worked just fine for Marco and his homebody introvert tendencies.

The baseball player’s parents had finally figured out about their waste of housing money, though, and made him move out of the dorms onto his own dime. No one on the team who Marco would consider living with was free, and his only friend who wasn’t affiliated with the team was now bunking in his girlfriend’s rental house. Marco had had to sign on to the potluck roster at the last minute, and naturally, he’d gotten tossed into the haunted East Hall, in a ground floor room above the basement with the suicide ghost girl. Marco didn’t really think the idea of lingering spirits held water, but his new roommate didn’t have the same point of view.

“Marco! Hey, Marco!”

Marco groaned and rolled over on his cheap mattress to a bright phone screen in his face. “Wha’ - th’hell, Connie?”

“Look! C’mon, look, look!” Marco shaded his eyes from the glare and squinted at the screen.

“Wow. ‘T’sa pipe.”

Connie groaned and hung off Marco’s lofted bed, head flopping back. “C’mon! Look harder!” He zoomed in on one corner of the picture and held it in Marco’s face again. Marco blinked.

“’m’I s’pposed to be seeing somethin’?”

Connie shook the bedframe, growling, and Marco was about to be his cause of death. “It’s the _ghost_! Can’t you see the distortion?” Marco stared hard at him.

“Go to sleep, Connie.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible! If you just came down with me, you’d feel her presence-” Marco rolled over and hauled the blankets over his head. Connie huffed and jumped off of Marco’s desk. “I’ll turn you around, just you wait!” Marco turned his face into the pillow as Connie’s computer powered on behind him, light filtering through his thin sheets.

Fuck this year.

* * *

The unspoken puzzle of the team’s August training camp had been Eren. He was a fully ambidextrous quarterback, a miracle on two legs never before seen in collegiate football – or on the visible spectrum. He’d been scouted since he could drive; he was the only thing any coach who visited his small North Carolina high school could talk about for months afterwards. He made recruiters shake with anticipation when they watched his plays switch around at a blink, the whole field open to a pass – but he wasn’t tackle-shy and rushed the line of scrimmage as often as he passed over it. He’d been on the hot list of half the country his entire senior year of high school. They were already talking about Heismans in the downtime of ESPN talk shows.

And then he’d stunned them all by signing onto a school that wasn’t even in the running for the National Championships.

The head coach, Smith, was the most stunned of all, as he’d thought Eren’s interest in them was purely in-state safety net security, but Eren’s binding early decision application was pretty final proof. Smith didn’t ask any more questions after that, and after calling his mother to share the good news, he’d pulled every string possible to get this crazy kid the fullest ride the football program could offer.

Having Eren on the field changed the team in ways that only a stellar athlete could. Marco hovered at his left shoulder for most of August, just trying to keep up with his eyes and not get left behind. Eren was a freshman who had never played in a stadium bigger than a thousand people, but his natural talent and demonic dedication meant that he was two steps ahead of even the most experienced players on the team. He wasn’t obnoxious about it, though, which is what everyone had expected when they’d first heard about him – big fish in little ponds tend to get too big for their britches pretty fast. He just _really_ liked to play, with an intensity that startled everyone but the quarterback coach, who was the only one unimpressed with the new star of the offense.

Marco wasn’t the prying kind. He was curious about Eren’s motives, of course, but he’d learn them in his own time, at Eren’s pace.

Eren lived off campus in a rental house neighborhood a lot of college kids shacked up in. Sunday they had no practice, but if Marco spent another minute with his ghost hunter roommate he was gonna add another spirit to the count. He invited himself over to Eren’s to make tamales so Eren could have at least one un-frozen dinner in his life. He went to the grocery store on Sunday to buy the ingredients, though, half because only he (and his Guatemalan family) knew the recipe, but mostly because he knew Eren’s fridge had ketchup and American cheese in it.

From: Numbah 5  
Get enough for 4 housemates are here  
Sun, Aug 19, 12:48 pm

Marco frowned, grocery basket hung over one elbow. Housemates?

From: Numbah 21  
Football or non?  
Sun, Aug 19, 12:49 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Non. So more like 3  
Sun, Aug 19, 12:51 pm

From: Numbah 21  
Cool. Be there in 20  
Sun, Aug 19, 12:53 pm

Marco showed up at Eren’s front door a little under half an hour after that, arms weighed down with grocery bags (weightlifting in the gym was so much different than carting corn and tomatoes across town) as he kicked at the door in a harsh knock. Voices called on the other side, Eren’s scratchy crow call carrying over the others. When the door opened, however, a new person was there – a short blond guy with a ponytail and peach fuzz. He smiled up at Marco, round blue eyes bright. “Hi! You must be Marco!”

Marco’s smile quirked up on one side. “Yeah, uh, who’re you?” The new guy rolled his eyes.

“Eren forgot to tell you, didn’t he? Figures.” He stepped back so Marco could come in and closed the door behind him. “I’m Armin, Eren’s keeper.” Marco snorted.

“Well, if anyone needs a keeper, it’s that kid.” Marco hefted a grocery bag. “Where can I dump this?”

Armin led him back through the house (nicer than he’d expected from a college house, but not crazy fancy) to the kitchen, where Eren and an Asian girl in a softball shirt were sitting around a breakfast table covered in bills and textbooks. They looked up at their entry; Eren jerked up his chin in a greeting.

“Yo, Marco. When do we eat?”

Armin and the girl glared at Eren in unison. He made a face back at them, almost a snarl. The girl kicked him under the table. “Don’t be rude.” He kicked her back. She rolled her eyes and stood, taking a bag off Marco’s arm with a slight smile. “I’m Mikasa. Thank you for not killin’ him yet.”

Marco chuckled and set the other bags on the kitchen counter. “Not for lack of trying.” He stepped back and evaluated the kitchen. He’d worked with worse. “So, what’s the biggest pot you got?”

Marco’s tamales became a family affair, all three of them helping him mash corn, slice up tomatoes, and wrap them up in elephant ear leaves from the backyard (the closest things to plantain leaves they could find at such short notice). Eren’s housemates were friendly, Armin in a bubbly, laughing manner, Mikasa the quiet rock to her wild boys. Marco picked up that they were all old friends fast, but it took a few hours of dedicated eavesdropping to figure out that Mikasa and Armin were sophomores, not freshmen like Eren, and that they each had their own pocket of campus they dominated in. They were all Erens, although Armin’s field was the social activism booth outside the food court, and Mikasa was the champion of both the softball team and the cadaver classroom. They were triplets of overachievers; the only thing that didn’t make sense about them was why in the world they’d trapped themselves in this hipster mountain school.

When the tamales were ready, they took them to the patio in the fenced-in backyard to eat, Eren and Marco devouring three times as many as Mikasa and Armin together. All four of them were vegetarian, a discovery that had startled out the first group laugh of the evening. They’d stuffed the tamales with tomatoes, bell peppers, raisins – whatever Marco could find in their locally-sourced grocery store’s produce section. They weren’t quite the way his mother and aunts made them, but the other three were happy, so he could be content.

“You should come over more, Marco, if it means we’ll eat like that again,” Armin said with a sigh as he sprawled back in his iron patio chair, fork clattering to his plate. Mikasa nodded.

“That’s the most action that stove’s seen since Armin broke up with Annie.” Eren choked on his water; Armin laughed too loud, face red. Marco just raised an eyebrow. Mikasa winked at him, face a stone otherwise. He laughed, chin to his chest and eyes closed.

“I’d love to come over again,” Marco said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Just say when.”

Eren disappeared during dish clean-up and came back with a football that was more beat-up than any bottom of the bin reject in the football shed. Marco took one look at Eren’s puppy-dog face and laughed. “Levi’s gonna kill you if you throw out of his supervision.”

“What he don’t know won’t hurt him.” Eren bounced on his toes, spinning the ball in the air. Marco glanced at Mikasa and Armin, who shrugged him on.

“We’ll finish up in here. He’s like a dog, you gotta exercise him every few hours or he’ll chew up the furniture.” Eren flapped his hand in a mockery of Armin before he dashed out the back door in front of Marco, who followed at a walk.

Eren always started throwing with his right hand, then shifted to his left as he warmed up. Marco was hoping that he’d stay on the right the whole time, but it only took three passes for Marco to regret not bringing his gloves – any gloves. Even when it was just casual backyard passing, Eren threw like a wrecking ball slamming into Marco’s hands.

“Your friends are nice.” _Bam_. Marco shook out his arm before throwing it back.

“Yeah.” _Bam_. “I’m glad they like you, ‘cause they never like people I bring home.”

Marco laughed. “So are they your roommates or your parents?”

Eren caught his lazy pass and shrugged. “Kinda both, I guess.” _Bam_.

They talked like that as the sun set over the mountains, Marco’s hands tingling, then going numb. Mikasa made their pattern a triangle once the dishes were done; her passes were less like construction equipment and more like a bullet, stinging less and covering less ground, but with a pinpoint accuracy as terrifying as Eren’s sheer power. Armin sat at the patio table with a textbook he didn’t touch as he offered commentary on their game that had Marco missing a few catches from laughing. All in all, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a Sunday. He could get used to this.

* * *

Marco’s first week of his junior year was, overall, unremarkable in its events, like most college days. Lectures all blurred together eventually, hours of cold rooms, dirty chalkboards, and staring at the clock beside the projector screen as it ticked along. College is a series of images that melt into impressions of the buildings, of the walk between classes, of the people you see and the places you meet.

The first weekend fizzed out straight into Wednesday, another long day running from ten to nine. Wednesday practice was brutal, since it was the last week they had without a game, and Marco felt like limping across campus to his physics lab after three hours of pounding sweat. He and the other football players who had the ill luck of class after practice dragged themselves up the hills of campus towards the academic buildings. Outside of the stadium, a lone girl was struggling on the sidewalk with some… art project, maybe, through the tide of linebackers. It was haphazardly constructed out of plywood and chicken wire, and didn’t look like it shouldn’t be shedding pieces in its wake. Marco didn’t get it, but what he did get was a tiny Indian girl in pigtails struggling with an object twice her size. When it started to wobble, he rushed forward to support the other… end.

“Whoa there!” He caught it before it could fall apart. He leant to the side to smile at the girl, who owl-blinked at him. “You okay?”

She beamed at him, too wide. “Yeah, doin’ _fine_.” His smile bent up as she cleared her throat. “I mean, uh, I-I’ve got to get this across campus, but it’s so heavy, and weird-”

He laughed her off. “I can help you, no worries. Where you headed?”

She chewed on an errant strand of hair that had blown into her mouth. “Well, uh. I dunno. I kinda – got lost.” Marco leant a little more to see around the thing – the lanyard around her neck marked her as a piece of freshman meat. “I think it’s around the duck pond?” She laughed, too high and too loud. He smiled at her as softly as he knew how.

“That’s all right, I remember my first semester, too. Maybe you remember the name of the building?”

She texted her big to find out the building before they launched the failed chicken coop on its way. As they shuffled the contraption away from the edge of campus where the football stadium was up to the center, Marco learned that her name was Mina, that she was from Augusta, Georgia, and that she had no idea what this art project was supposed to be, either. She had pledged to the Alpha Phi sorority that Monday, and now had gotten stuck doing grunt work for the seniors. He laughed at her nervous jokes called around the wood-and-wire mess and told a few of his own while giving her a stumbling tour of campus through eyes unclouded by PBR.

They were coming around the street corner that framed the duck pond, a water feature whose main attribute wasn’t the fountain spout in the middle, but the hordes of attack ducks lining the algae-infested water, when a gaggle of other sorority girls swarmed down the hill behind it, shrieking. Marco and Mina stopped on the sidewalk; Mina peered through a hole in the chickenwire at Marco, whites of her eyes visible all around her dark irises. “I’m really sorry about this.”

Marco blinked, project slipping out of his hands as Mina dropped it and stepped away. “What?”

The girls knew they only had surprise and their numbers against anyone who fought three hundred pound muscle mountains daily. One second, Marco was holding a one-by-four and a few honeycombs of chickenwire. The next, three freshman girls in Nike shorts had knocked him off his feet and sent him and his football bag tumbling down the hill into the duck pond, dirty water squelching at his impact and getting all up in his nose. He floundered and sputtered, slipping in the moss of the pond bank, while shrill voices and angry duck quacks cawed above him.

“Git it, Lucy, git the picture, git it!”

Marco looked up through his dripping bangs (he’d _just_ taken a shower, damn it all) as two of the girls snapped pictures on their phone. They high-fived; he struggled out of the pond and up onto the grassy bank, socks squishing. The girls laughed and ran, sprinting back up the hill to whatever Elle Woods hell they’d sprung from. Mina’s ‘art project’ was abandoned on the sidewalk when Marco dragged himself up to it. He squeezing his sopping jacket over it and kicked it for good measure. The ducks around the pond were still irate at the intrusion into their zone - one waddled up to nip at his ankle. He kicked it away and honked back before stomping away, leaving wet footprints for the lucky observers to follow.

He wasn’t even half dry when he finally hauled his ass to his physics lab, half an hour late and pissed off. Jean looked up with a frown from across the room at the door slamming open; the frown shifted to a gape, then a grin, as the whole class turned at his appearance. Jean cackled.

“What happened to _you_ , Muscles?”

Marco shook his head, water splattering onto the chalkboard. “I was learning my lesson - don’t be nice to people. Ever.” Jean snorted, head falling, before he pushed himself off the desk and weaved through the tables to Marco. He made a face back at the class as he went.

“Hey, who told you to stop?” A flurry of paper and chatter as everyone went back to the lab. Jean narrowed his eyes at the before turning back to Marco, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Who took advantage a’the poor innocent football player this time?”

“Some sorority girls pushed me in the duck pond and documented it.” Marco shivered - the physics floor was always five degrees too cold. Jean rolled his eyes, sighing. Marco frowned. “Is this a common thing?”

“Sometimes they mix it up and kidnap people instead.” Jean pursed his lips and gave Marco a once-over; Marco’s internal temperature rose a few degrees closer to usual. “Kid, you’re in no shape for this shit. Go home and clean up, and you can make up the lab in office hours on Friday.”

Marco blinked. “Really?”

Jean snorted. “Nah, I’m gonna make ya get pneumonia instead. Get your ass home, kid, ‘fore I hafta drag it home.”

Marco held up his hands. “No, thanks, I’ve had enough of the dragging around for the day.” Jean grinned, then furrowed his eyebrows.

“Seriously, do you need a ride or somethin’? I know I shouldn’t leave these idiots alone, but that’s better than our star running back coughing up blood.”

Marco smiled. “I didn’t tell you my position.”

Jean flushed, ears red, and tugged at the stud in his ear. “I was curious, ‘kay?” Marco chuckled. Jean coughed. “Anyway, get the fuck home, I’ll see you on Friday.”

Marco nodded, still smiling. “See you Friday. And, thank you.”

Jean grinned. “No problem, waterboy.” Marco punched his shoulder and left.

* * *

It was a Friday morning two weeks into the fall semester, and Marco was five minutes late to Jean’s eight am office hours.

He wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to be late for this, since office hour times are more like guidelines anyway, or on time, since he was making up a three hour lab in a two hour time. Five minutes was his compromise.

This time when he opened the door to the physics resource room, Jean wasn’t asleep at the conference table, but setting up a tension stand on it, rolling chairs pushed back to the wall. He looked up at Marco’s entry – his hair was back in its spikes today. He grinned.

“Hey waterboy. Good to see you high and dry again.” Marco dropped his backpack in a border chair and fished for his lab notebook.

“Good to see you awake this time.” Marco shot a look over his shoulder. “What, forget your coffee last week?”

Jean stuck out his tongue at him, then stood back from the equipment to admire his work, running a hand through his hair and sticking it in all directions. “All right, I think that should do it.” Jean smiled his mismatched smile at Marco. “Ready for your lab instructor to be your lab partner?”

Marco coughed. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

Jean waved him off. “Rules are for wimps. ‘Sides, Momma won’t care.”

Marco raised his eyebrows. “And why would your mom care about this?”

Jean blinked. “Aw, shit, I wasn’t supposed to talk ‘bout that with y’all.” He twisted a hair spike around a finger, huffing. “Uh, well, don’t tell, anyone, but yeah, my momma’s the professor. Surprise.” Marco snorted.

“Dr. Rhodes is your mom.” Jean flapped his hand.

“There’s a thing about academics not changing their names when they get hitched, but really it’s that she’n Daddy didn’t want to have two Dr. Kirschstein’s in the house.” Marco chuckled, and Jean grinned. “Daddy’s a dentist.”

“Two doctors in the family, huh? So are you some kinda Kim Possible in your spare time?”

Jean choked on his laugh, head ducking into the cavity of one shoulder. “Nah, I’m not bendy enough for a cheerleader.” He glanced up at Marco, then shook his head. “C’mon, let’s knock this lab out so I’m not late to Quantum.”

Marco flipped open his lab notebook and watched Jean’s face as he set out on a layman’s explanation of the lab – something about density – as the early sunlight filtered through the windows and bounced off of Jean’s piercings. Marco chewed on his pencil as he watched Jean’s hands work.


	2. Flips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: This fic is harder to write than I thought and I am so behind but hey! Second chapter!  
> [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [tumblr tag for the au](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/tagged/jeanmarco-college-au) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

It was midday on the Tuesday of the third week of the fall semester, and Marco was staring at the Chik-Fil-A fry pick-up, willing more large fries into existence. Or at least one. But no, the lunch rush had just hit the dining hall, and the fries were all stolen from him, and all of the food court employees were too busy or too far away for him to ask for an ETA. He sighed and resigned himself to just his pasta, swimming in oil, and a decked-out salad from the bar, and turned away – right into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Marco stepped back – it was the misleading sorority girl from last week, Mona or Rena or something. Rihanna? He tried not to let his smile fall. “Hello again.”

“Hi!” She twisted her pigtails over her shoulders. “Hi again.” She flipped them back. He raised his eyebrows.

“Can I help you with something?” She blinked up at him. Girls were just so _short_. And squishy. She shook her head, twitchy and fast.

“No, it’s not – I just wanted to – apologize, for last week.” His eyes narrowed, and he brushed past her to the checkout line, handing over his card to the cashier with a nod. She followed him, half-jogging to keep up. “I’m really sorry! It was a rush scavenger hunt thing for the pledges, we had to do things and take pictures of it, and one of them was dunk a football player in the duck pond, and – I had no idea you’d be so nice about it!” He got his card back and found an empty table, tossing his backpack in the neighboring seat. She took the other side, fiddling with her fingers on the sticky tabletop. “I wanna make it up to you.”

He paused in the act of uncapping his water bottle and raised an eyebrow at her. “You wanna let me push you and your friends into the pond instead?”

She giggled, palm pressed to her cheek. “No, please don’t.” She wove her fingers into one pigtail. “Maybe I could buy you lunch sometime? Maybe this weekend?”

 _Mina_. Her name was Mina. “Not this weekend. We’ve got our first game up at Virginia Tech Saturday afternoon.”

She deflated, hands sagging to her lap. “Oh.”

Marco frowned behind the lip of his water bottle. Damn his soft heart. “Look, you don’t wanna be buying food for me anyway, I eat like a draft horse.” She huffed a laugh, glancing up at him. He smiled. “But I’d be happy to help you get your bearings around campus sometime. I know it’s kind of confusing as a new kid, and before y’all shoved me in the duck pond, I had a good time with that art project and you.”

She giggled, back to playing with her pigtail. “We just made up something big and awful to get one of y’all to help, actually. I was just the carrier.”

He chuckled. “Y’all put a lot of thought into this, didn’t y’all?” She shrugged, avoided his eyes. “I have kind of a crazy schedule this semester, and planning things ahead of time always means backing out later. But I hate to see freshmen floundering in those big campus maps.”

She smiled up at him. “They are obnoxious, aren’t they?” She fumbled her phone out of her pocket. “What’s your last name, then, so I can add you on facebook? If that’s okay?”

He chuckled. “Actually, I don’t have a facebook.” She gasped; he laughed harder.

“How do you _live?_ ”

“I manage just fine.” He motioned for her phone. “Here, I’ll just add my number in your contacts.”

“Oh, well, I guess that works, too.” She opened a new contact window and held it out to him. “So I can just text you whenever?”

He shrugged as he typed in his number. “Whenever you need some muscle to hold open a door for you, I guess. Can’t promise I’ll be free, but I’ll do what I can.” He saved the contact and handed the phone back to her. “Text me your name, yeah?”

She beamed. “Yeah. Thanks, Marco.” She tapped away at her phone as she stood. “Thanks for not beating me up.”

He smiled. “Now, that’d hardly be a fair fight. You’d slaughter me.” She giggled, flipping a pigtail back, before bouncing off to a table a few away where a crowd of sorority girls – distinguishable by their stick-straight hair and various rush party t-shirts – were gossiping loud enough to scare their neighbors away. Marco sighed and dug into his pasta – cold. Great.

* * *

Tuesday after practice, Marco followed Eren back to his house, a stack of Virginia Tech tapes in Eren’s bag and some fancy pasta from a local vendor selling on campus in Marco’s. In Marco’s further attempts to avoid trips to his dorm’s dank basement with his roommate, he was worming his way into Eren and company’s house, where they had a pullout couch and no specters of students gone by. He was aiming to have a toothbrush in their cup by October.

Marco started the pasta while Eren got the DVD player set up, cutting up leftover tomatoes and bell peppers from Sunday and tossing them in a pan for a quick sauté. Digging through the cupboards found a jar of pine nuts and a half-empty container of olive oil, which Marco threw in the pan as well. Eren watched him work from the living room couch, entranced.

“Seriously, dude, how do you even _do_ that? Make something out of the leftover shit in our kitchen?”

Marco laughed as he poured the pasta into the boiling water, adding a splash of olive oil. “It’s called being resourceful.”

“It’s called being a wizard.” Marco shook his head, but didn’t say anything about how most college students thought any food with prep time over the _Add 30 Secs_ button on the microwave was too much. His mother’s family owned a large and popular restaurant back in Miami, and he’d been raised in its kitchen. No Perez-Arriola would ever have to resort to ramen for dinner.

When the pasta was done and doled, Marco and Eren flopped on the couch with their plates and turned on the first game assigned to them (well, assigned to Eren, but Marco didn’t see the harm in joining in). The pasta was bright red and kind of spicy, but Marco liked a kick to his food. Eren barely noticed the food going in his mouth, eyes fixed on the TV screen.

Armin came home in the second quarter, dumping his bag behind the couch and sitting on the back. “Hey, Marco. How y’all doin’?”

“Decent enough.” Marco glanced at their licked-clean plates. “Sorry, if I’d known you were coming back soon, I’d’ve made more pasta.”

Armin waved him off. “It’s all right, I already ate.” He slid a hand over Eren’s shoulder to drape his thin arm across his chest. Marco bit the inside of his cheek. “What y’all watchin’?”

“Virginia Tech lose to Ohio State.” Eren patted Armin’s wrist absentmindedly, eyes stuck on the play. Armin hummed and rested his chin on top of Eren’s head. Marco stood to gather the plates and take them to the kitchen sink, taking the time to wash them off and rearrange the packed dishwasher to fit them in.

When he came back to the living room, Eren hadn’t moved, but Armin had slipped around to curl up on the couch next to him, head resting on Eren’s shoulder as they watched the old game together. Marco paused in the open archway, chewing on his lip.

“Hey, I think I might actually head out,” Marco said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Armin shot up as Eren twisted away from the screen for the first time since the game had started.

“What? No way! Who’s supposed to suffer through this with me?” He shot a glance at Armin, carefully a glance away now. “No offense, Ar.”

Armin smiled at him, not reaching his eyes. “It’s all right, I get it.” He stood up, straightening his shirt. “I’ve got some essays to write, anyway.”

“Well write’em down here, we’ll make it a homework party.” Eren grinned at Armin, who swallowed and smiled back.

“Sure, why not.” Armin went upstairs to fetch his laptop. Marco frowned when he was out of sight and fell on the couch next to Eren, leaning in.

“Is there a thing there I should be aware of?” Eren blinked at his whisper, eyebrows drawn together.

“A thing where?” The quarterback on the TV got sacked. Eren winced. “Oh, he could’ve avoided _that_ one, shit.”

Marco sighed and sat back, arms folded over his stomach and heels kicked up on the coffee table. When Armin came back down, he folded himself against Eren’s side again, back to shoulder, and propped his laptop on his knees, earbuds in. Eren squirmed around to sling an arm along the back of the couch by Armin. Marco bit his cheek, but kept his commentary for the game.

* * *

Marco hadn’t been able to tell the familial connection between the professor and his lab instructor for his physics class, simply because they hadn’t been in the same room yet. During her Wednesday lecture, though (because he forgot on Monday), he was watching for it. Dr. Rhodes was a normal-ish, middle-aged woman, hair thin and textured from dying it too much – a look he’d become familiar with as his mother and aunts went gray. She taught with a document camera and a hand white board that projected onto the wall screen, only using the chalkboard in dire circumstances. The lecture hall had about a hundred fifty students in it, and a few were asleep, but overall Rhodes was a good lecturer, at least trying to gauge the attention of her class and what to spend more time discussing and what they already knew.

Marco sat towards the back of the amphitheater-style classroom, eye-level with the projector screen as she wrote notes on her white board that shone in bright green equations on the screen. Someone in the third row raised their hand, and her marker paused.

“Yes?”

The girl in the third row didn’t speak loud enough to carry back to Marco, but whatever she asked made Dr. Rhodes sigh and put her marker down on the podium. “I was afraid someone would ask about that.” A general chuckle from the class – she flashed a smile at them. “I’m gonna need a bigger board.” She dug around in the chalk tray running the length of the dirty chalkboard. “Oh, Lordy, where the heck is the chalk?” After some mumbling and scrounging, she found a stub of yellow and held it up with a wrinkled nose. “See, kids, this is why I use the doc cam.” She shook her head and launched into an explanation of the question, scrawling Greek fractions and triangle reflection diagrams across the board, chalk squeaking.

When she was done, she tossed the chalk stub back into the tray and clapped the dust off her hands. “Does that answer your question?” Someone else on the other side of the hall raised their hand. She laughed. “Y’all’re just tryin’ to get me off track, aren’t y’all?” But she gestured for the question anyway, finding her chalk stub again. “Go ahead, son.”

The rest of the lecture time was spent fielding question after question, the class waking up as Dr. Rhodes explained concepts both below and above the scope of the class, wearing through three different colors of chalk stubs. She had blue dust in her hair from running a hand through it once while listening to the sixth question of the class.

The bell startled everyone, especially Dr. Rhodes. “Aw, shoot, I didn’t cover my material at _all_. Oh well, tomorrow’s problem. Have a good rest of your day, y’all!” She clapped off her dusty hands again, blue and yellow and white, as the class clamored to pack up. The original girl with the question pushed her way through the first two rows to catch Dr. Rhodes at her podium; when the professor looked up, she gave the questioner a smile that would’ve been mismatched against an undercut and an industrial piercing. Marco shoved his notebook in his backpack and joined his stampede heading out the back doors. He wondered if her eyes were orange when she was tired, too.

* * *

Marco swung clear of the duck pond on his way from practice to Wednesday lab and only ten minutes early this time. A few of his classmates were loitering in the hall outside, checking phones or talking to their friends. Marco took a spot on the wall to lean on himself, but before he could even unlock his phone, one of the girls sitting near him slid down the linoleum to his feet.

“Hiya.” She stuck her hand up at him. “I’m Sasha Braus.”

“Uh. Hi.” He bent down to shake her fingers. “Marco. Uh, Bodt.”

She snorted. “Bodt, like Butt. That’s great.” She knocked her head back against the wall to stare up at him. “You got a lab partner yet, Butt?”

“Oh – I guess I missed that last week. I did the lab with Jean- the TA, instead.”

“Lu- _cky_. Anyway, me’n my friend need a third butt in a seat. Want it to be yours?” He huffed a laugh, chin hitting his breastbone.

“Sure, why not.” She pumped a fist in the air, then used his leg to haul herself to her feet – he almost toppled on her, unbraced knee buckling.

“Sorry, pal.” She hopped to a stand – she was taller than he’d thought. She patted his shoulder. “I see why the TA calls you Muscles.”

He tilted his head, eyebrow raised. “Has anyone told you you’re crazy lately?”

“Not since lunch.” She crossed her arms and bumped her shoulder into his bicep. “So, where ya from, big guy?”

“Miami. But my family’s from Guatemala.”

Her eyes lit up, and she beamed. “Great! You can help me with my Spanish homework, too!” She latched her arm around his elbow and grinned in his face. He leant away to get out of reach of her breath. “I like you, Butt.”

“Uh. Thanks.” He tried to pull out of her grip, but she had koala blood in her and refused to let go. “So, uh, who’s our other lab partner?”

“Oh, Ymir. She’s an asshole.” Sasha shrugged. “She’s funny about it, though. We’re both pre-engineering, so we run into each other a lot.”

The lab door opened to release the previous session; Sasha let him go at last to sling her backpack over one shoulder. Marco took two steps to the side, joining the other early birds collecting their gear. When the crowd of departures had thinned, Jean had arrived, shouldering his way through them to the door. Marco’s eyes flicked over the back of Jean’s neck, marked by a red birthmark where his hairline fizzed out.

“He’s not my type.” Marco jerked at Sasha’s comment from his elbow, almost getting it in her boob for her trouble. Sasha waggled her eyebrows. “He yours?”

His cheeks flamed. “Uh- buh- I mean-” She gave a big, hammy wink and went into the lab, leaving him to follow.

* * *

Marco learned absolutely nothing in that lab. He was too busy babysitting his new ‘lab partners,’ who were more like the female Dumb and Dumber. They did make him laugh, but the three of them were the last triangle table out of the lab, lingering half an hour past Jean’s patience limit. Ymir was, as Sasha described, an asshole – a basketball jock who had a bad luck injury her senior year of high school that kept her from being recruited to the Tar Heels. She still held out on the hope they’d scout her still and transfer her out of this football school, but she was a sophomore now and still had no sign of powder blue. That didn’t keep her from not trying, though.

The lab notebook that he opened Thursday night to make a full report on was half-assed at best. He frowned at it, flipped through it, then tossed it across his desk in a flutter of papers. Another early Friday morning it was.

Jean was sprawled across two chairs at the conference table, coffee thermos propped up on his stomach and bare feet propped up in the rattiest chair of the mixed-up set. “Hey, Muscles. I was wonderin’ if I’d see ya here today.” He crossed his ankles in the chair, left foot – blue?

“What’s wrong with your foot?” Jean cocked his head and looked down.

“Oh, that.” He bent in to roll up his jeans leg to his knee. Marco slipped his backpack off his shoulders to the table, eyebrows furrowing.

“That’s definitely quite a tattoo.”

Jean grinned. “You like it? I’ve been workin’ on it since I turned nineteen.” He turned his ankle, black lines and watercolor patterns shifting over muscle and bone. “Started with the sailboat here-” he traced the simple two triangles and a half circle just above the ball of the joint – “and I’ve been adding on fish and waves and clouds and shit whenever I feel like it, or whenever I got money.” He let Marco admire it, the whale on the top of his foot, the yellow and orange clouds artfully colored outside the lines, before he shoved his pants leg back down. “I’ve kinda forgotten it’s weird not to have a blue left foot.”

Marco laughed, sitting on the edge of the table. He gestured towards Jean’s right wrist, fingers reaching, curling. “Does that have anything to do with the triangle?”

Jean blinked and looked down at the little black shape on the inside of his arm. He smiled, shook his head. “Nah, that was me and a friend daring each other to get our favorite Greek symbols as a tattoo. It’s delta, ‘cause it means change and all that shit.” Jean raked a hand through his hair (spiked again; Marco hadn’t seen it natural since that first Friday) and flashed Marco his mismatched smile. “Nerds, right?”

Marco crossed his arms and flipped his hair out of his eyes with a twitch. “There’s a wide receiver on our team who has the Captain America shield tattooed across his entire back.” Jean snorted, jerking in his seat. Marco shrugged. “There are nerds everywhere.”

“Apparently.” Jean sipped at his coffee. “Did you need help, or did you just come to check out my legs?”

Marco swallowed and twisted to reach for his slumped backpack. “No, uh, your legs are the last things on my mind, I swear.” _Your orange eyes and your ear piercings on the other hand_ -

Jean laughed. “Fair enough, your team’s chock full of way better legs than my chicken ones, I’m sure.” He kicked his feet off the chair to sit properly in the chair, propping his front teeth on the lip of his coffee thermos. “Lay it on me, big guy.”

Marco extracted his lab notebook from the mess of his backpack’s internal organs. “Do we _have_ to keep the same lab partners all semester?”

Jean laughed, knee banging on the underside of the table. “You don’t _have_ to, but good luck findin’ someone who’ll trade after last lab’s display.” Marco groaned, and Jean grinned at him from behind his coffee. “M’not surprised you got snapped up by two girls, a’course.”

“Yeah…” Ymir had spent most of the lab whining about how she hadn’t seen her girlfriend in a month, while Sasha sent heavy looks between Marco and Jean with too much winking and eyebrow waggling, but whatever. “Anyway, I can’t make head or tail of my notes from then - pretty sure Sasha drew a pooping cat over one of the diagrams-”

Jean sighed and spun around the chair his feet had been in. “Take a load off, Muscles, and let us tell sad stories of the death of kings.” Marco huffed, but obliged, explaining his problems while Jean’s hot coffee framed his face in steam.

* * *

The first game in any college football season has two different sides of the same traditional coin. For the big name schools in the Bowl division, it’s a chance to warm up against an inferior, local team and beat their asses into the ground to prepare for the season to come. For those inferior, local teams in the Championship division, it’s the first round pummeling that leaves them facing the rest of the season with the knowledge that they’ve been through worse. Marco’s team was sitting pretty on the top of the bottom of the heap, the best of the Championship teams, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t going to get slaughtered by Virginia Tech, the chosen Bowl team, just as much as Georgia Southern would by Georgia. There was always a chance of an upset that glimmered in the turf, but it was rare and hard to reach, unless a miracle happened.

Miracles, as Marco would come to learn, often came prefaced by Eren.

They were losing something awful by halftime – 38-0, an embarrassment to the game, really – and there wasn’t much hope of ever recovering. Marco was gonna be blue and purple on Monday, even despite the pads, and his helmet had game smell by halftime. Most of the first string was still in, fighting for their lives against Virginia Tech’s second string. The field was a slaughterhouse.

“Eren.” Marco turned from where he was taking a water break on a metal bench during a (short) defensive run. Levi slapped Eren’s padded chest with his clipboard. “Warm up. You’re taking out Jackson next time we’re on the field.”

Eren stared at Levi, mouth open, before it widened into a grin. “Yessir!” Levi raised an eyebrow at him before waving him off to the sidelines. Eren caught Marco’s eye, demonic grin still on. Marco sighed and stood. Eren really should warm up with the third-string quarterback, but the redshirt junior hated Eren for passing him just for signing up, and probably would try to break Eren’s wrists so that he could go out, instead.

It only took two passes for Eren to switch to his left hand. Marco frowned as the stadium erupted around them – another touchdown for Virginia Tech on their home field. Bowl teams not only had better teams, but better everything, including a stadium that held seventy thousand people instead of seven. All of that sound curved down to the field, drowning out play calls and putting a white noise dampener on the teams’ ears, but Eren didn’t seem phased. He kept eye contact with Marco as they passed, leather wrecking balls that tore up Marco’s palms, even with his thickest gloves on.

Virginia Tech got the extra point easy, and the whistle blew for the kickoff special teams to go out. Marco had to grab the back of Eren’s jersey to keep him from joining, sweat dripping down his neck. “Not this time, kid.”

Eren blinked and shook his head. “Right. Right.” Marco let him go, and they went to get their helmets from the bench, Eren strapping on his playbook armband.

The panting offense took the field in the first play called by Mike, the offensive coordinator. They’d gotten a 23-yard run out of the kick return, so were first and ten on the 27 yard line. Their usual strategy was pass first, run later, but Virginia Tech’s defense had been shutting them down hard the whole game through. Marco breathed, vision narrowed by his helmet, as he shifted on his feet two yards from Eren’s left side.

The ball snapped. Marco grappled with the Virginia Tech lineman who charged him to get at Eren – he was supposed to pass it to the left, why wasn’t the ball over his head by now –

A roar in the stadium. Eren, the crazy bastard that he was, had done a sneak through a gap in the scrimmage line, getting a first down through sheer force of will and surprise. Marco batted away the lineman and ran up to slap Eren’s helmet along with everyone else, hooking two fingers into the grill of Eren’s face mask to yank him around.

“Are you crazy?” he yelled. Underneath it all, Eren was still grinning.

“Hell yeah I am. Let’s do it again.”

Marco shook his head and let him go. “Levi’s gonna kill you.” Eren shrugged and ran back to the huddle, glancing to their sideline where Mike was signing the next play.

They didn’t quite stomp on Virginia Tech that run, but they did manage their way into a touchdown, caught by the wide receiver with the shield tattoo on his back. Their bench exploded with way more enthusiasm than a 38-6 score warranted, even when they missed their attempt at a two-point conversion. When Eren came off the field, Marco could barely find him in the throng of bouncing heads and black and yellow stripes, but he emerged, unscathed, in time for Levi to start screaming in his face mask, his own face beet red and _vicious_. Marco backed away to go down a gallon of Gatorade.

No one on the Virginia Tech side was prepared to deal with Eren. On their next run down the field (Virginia Tech’s run had, of course, ended in another touchdown, making the score 45-6), Eren passed more, switching hands for the best open receiver. Just when the defense got used to passes on the left, Eren would see an open spot on the right and flip, bulleting the ball over to whatever poor soul was open. Twice that poor soul was Marco; he got half of his yards for the game from those two carries. The game went on.

They were in the red zone with five minutes left in the fourth quarter, and everyone on their side was feeding off of Eren’s crazy, including Marco. The next play called for him to rush it. Bertl snapped; Eren handed it off. Why go around when you can go over?  

He only meant to vault over a dip in the struggling dogpile on the two yard line – he knew he could make it, he’d hurdled through high school – but someone swatted at his ankle halfway over, and he tipped forward – he curled around the ball and hailed Mary-

His cleats found solid ground hard. He stumbled forward before he fell – had that really happened? A whistle blew into the back of his helmet, rattling in the dips of the padding - he'd crossed the in zone line in his stumble, getting a touchdown. Sweaty pads slammed into his back, knocking him into the churned grass and blocking out the sun.

He guessed he’d have to wait for the replay.

* * *

They watched it Sunday on Eren’s couch, Armin under his arm and Mikasa in the kitchen. Marco’s last visit had inspired a tradition of family recipes, and it was her turn to reach back into the lineage that none of the three would talk about to find something doable in their kitchen. She’d refused any attempts by Armin or Marco to help and had shunted them away to ESPN – just in time to watch Marco’s failed vault bordered by flashing red and black.

“Holy _shit_ , dude!” Eren yelled when TV-Marco, helmet rattled off, vanished under the weight of the offensive line. “That looks so much cooler than it did on the field!”

“ _Eren!_ ” Armin slapped at Eren’s arm, squeezing too tight around his neck. Eren relinquished his death grip, patting Armin’s elbow where his arm slipped down to.

“Sorry, Ar.” Marco sighed, a slight exhale, as the other two chatted over the announcer’s confused praise of Eren – what the hell was this kid _doing_ outside of a billion-dollar program? The highlight reel had moved on to a Big Ten game by the time Eren was done fussing over Armin, and that was the end of that.

* * *

It turned out, of course, that Marco was wrong again. The entire campus had watched the game and seen his face on the dining hall TV’s incessant ESPN (Sportscenter is like the athletic CNN and replays itself every hour on the hour between the usual sporting events). Monday, there were whispers as he went about his morning, starstruck looks on passersby and classmates, hi-fives in the hallway. He tried not to acknowledge the attention, but he was glowing gold and sunshine with every ‘hey, nice game’ thrown his way. It was nice to be appreciated.

Adoration, on the other hand, got old pretty fast.

Lunch came, and he gathered his giant’s portion of pasta and found an empty table at the dining hall, like usual. He liked eating alone – it was one of the only times in a day when he didn’t have to talk to anyone and could lose himself in his thoughts for a little while. Before he could unwrap his plastic fork, some kid with unkempt facial hair, art deco sunglasses on top of his head, and a colorless beanie pulled over his scruff flopped down next to him.

“Hey Marco! How you doin’, man?” Marco raised an eyebrow at him, left corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Doin’ fine, I guess. Can I help you?”

The guy laughed. “What, you don’t remember me?” Marco bit his cheek – ‘scruffy guy in a hat’ described half of their campus. “We had English Comp together?”

Marco shrugged. “Sorry, really, I have no idea who you are.” The guy huffed, but leaned forward anyway.

“Well, that’s cool, you don’t need to remember me to come to my party on Friday!” Marco blinked. “I’m having a rave at my house, and it’d be really cool if the new star of the football team came!” He winked and nudged Marco’s arm with his elbow. The inside of Marco’s cheek was gonna be a mess.

“Uh, well, I like sleeping the day before a game, actually.” The guy huffed again, groaning.

“Ugh, I forgot about game day.” He pulled out his phone, blue eyes wide in his face. “Well, I can add you to the facebook event and you’ll show if you feel like it, yeah?”

“Actually-” The guy stood and tapped Marco’s shoulder with his fist before Marco could tell him he didn’t have a facebook, weaving through the tables and out of sight behind the lunch masses. Marco deflated, sagging back in his chair for a moment before he unwrapped his fork and swirled it in his pasta.

Before he could get a good bite of it, three girls came up and flanked him at his table, giggling. “Hey, Marco! Great game on Saturday!”

Marco rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand before he put on a smile and faced them.

* * *

Marco took to walking around campus with his hood up and earbuds in by Wednesday, letting Daft Punk and Kanye drown out the calls from the green for a backflip for the camera (he couldn’t actually do a flip, but he didn’t want to tell them that) and trying to ignore everyone that ever thought he knew them. Everyone’s famous in a small town, and there’s no small town like a college campus.

A weekend of reflection had impressed onto the coaching staff that Marco’s stunt and everything else brought by Eren’s runs was on the dangerous and dumb side of reckless. Most of Monday practice was taken up by lecture, then vicious sprint drills designed to punish and exhaust. Eren was missing in action until Wednesday, working on his own torture system designed in the Sunday daydreams of Levi, the quarterback coach and the most feared of the staff. Marco had enough anger to deal with just with Mike, the offensive coordinator, and abandoned Eren to his fate.

Of course, for the team, that game was just the first of eleven, and it was back to business by Tuesday - they had another game on Saturday, and while North Carolina A&T wasn’t as much of a challenge as Virginia Tech, they still had to be in their best shape.

Being back in his dorm was hardly a safe zone. Connie was still on the ghost hunt, but now that he rubbed daily shoulders with local fame, he peppered every conversation with requests for Marco to promote his YouTube channel, where he posted his mouth-breathing videos of him running through the basement with the green night vision on. Marco deflected him as best he could, but every midnight encounter felt like Marco was reaching into his own mouth and trying to pull out his teeth.

Even Wednesday physics lab wasn’t much of a break, although at least Jean didn’t call out Marco for a round of applause like some of his other (crazier) professors in the smaller classes. Jean treated him like normal, but he spent most of the lab helping the other tables, so they didn’t do much beyond smile at each other when they happened to make eye contact. Sasha and Ymir spent the lab flicking rubber bands at each other and comparing all the ways in which Marco could’ve fucked up his landing, most ending in compound fractures or death. Marco did their work for them just to shut them up faster.

He felt rotten all Thursday, even snapping at some poor girl just asking if she could borrow a chair from his empty table at the dining hall. He took his mood out on the second string defense at practice as they ran some new plays - after three days of Levi slow cooking Eren, he’d presented his grand plan to rework the offense around him to the team. It’d take all season to be ready to implement it, but the sooner the team got to Eren’s level, the sooner they could make real use of him and squeeze every win out of his four-year presence.

Three hours of pounding only helped Marco’s nastiness for the walk across campus. When he opened the door to his room and found Connie at his desk, he almost turned right around and headed back to bed down in the locker room. People had done it before when their girlfriends dumped them. Connie saw him first, though, so he sighed and came in, chucking his bag at the foot of his lofted bed and crawling up on it, faceplanting on his pillow.

“Hey.” Marco grunted, but Connie pressed on. “How you doin’, pal?” Marco groaned louder. “Long day, huh?”

Marco flopped his head over to look at his roommate, sitting backwards in his chair and pen tucked behind his ear. “For once in your life, would you shut up, please?”

Connie held up his hands. “Just makin’ conversation, you don’t have to bite my head off about it.” Marco glared and rolled over, face to the wall and curling up around an armful of his duvet. Connie’s chair creaked. “Wanna order a pizza or something? That always helps me through a shitty day.”

Marco cracked an eye at the whitewashed cinderblock wall, then rolled back over. “How do you feel about vegetarian?”

Connie shrugged. “Pizza is pizza, as long as there’s no pineapple.” He twisted to open CampusFood on his laptop. “What franchise are you feeling?”

Marco slipped off the bed to look over Connie’s shoulder as they flipped through their selection options and argued about mushrooms.

* * *

It was early on Friday morning on the fourth week of the semester, and Marco was halfway to the science building when he remembered he didn’t actually have to be there. He slowed down in his powerwalk through the abandoned campus, frowning at the cracked sidewalk, but shrugged and continued on. He was already awake, whatever.

The Lindsay room was just as empty and sunlit as usual. Jean had half the conference table covered in books and paper, hair limp on his forehead and mouth parted. The door clicked shut behind Marco, but Jean didn’t move, tongue tracing his upper lip as he frowned at the book in front of him. Marco came around the table and sat across from Jean, rattling his backpack and jostling the chairs. Jean looked up, eyes unfocused, before shaking himself out of it and smiling at Marco, purple crescent moons under his eyes.

“Hey, Mar.” Jean cleared his raspy throat while Marco bit his tongue. “Sorry, I’ve been here for-” He woke up his phone screen. “Like, eight hours? Shit.” He rolled his shoulder back, pinching at the tendon joining neck and collarbone. “Test today.”

“Already?”

“Well, he calls it a quiz, but I’ve been through his quizzes before and he’s a sadist, so. Test.” He rubbed tight circles into his neck with three fingers, wincing. “Anyway, did ya have a question or somethin’?”

“Not really.” Jean tilted his head to the side. Marco smiled. “I just needed to get out.”

Jean snorted. “Fair enough. So you don’t mind if I keep on studyin’?” Marco shook his head. Jean sighed, hand still working at his neck. Marco jerked his chin up.

“I can help with that.” Jean blinked, and Marco patted his own neck. “You don’t spend half your life surrounded by physical trainers without picking up a trick or two.”

“Oh. Uh, sure.” Marco got up and came around the table, Jean staring at him all the while. “What do I, uh, have to do?”

“Sit so I can get to your shoulders, for one.” Jean spun in the seat, pulling a leg up, moving so the high back of the office chair was on his left and Marco could half-sit on the arm of the chair behind him. Marco flicked his eyes to the industrial in Jean’s red right ear, only the ends visible at this angle, before focusing on Jean’s neck and pretending it was just another teammate’s. None of them were this skinny, though. “Tell me what hurts.” Jean nodded, once and sharp. Marco pressed the balls of his hands into his shoulders. Jean winced, a metal flash, and Marco eased up on the pressure. Jean sighed, hands relaxing their death grip on the armrest in front of him. “So, what’s your quiz on?” Marco asked to distract himself from the red birthmark at Jean’s buzzed hairline (grown out uneven; he needed a touch-up) and the soft give of Jean’s skin under his hands. Jean reached for his book, shoulders shifting under Marco’s hands.

“Quantum – Quantum Mechanics. It ain’t as cool as it sounds, although it’s still pretty cool.” Jean huffed, head dipping. “Nerd stuff.”

Marco chuckled, Jean’s hair fluttering with his breath. Jean shivered as he rolled his hands a few inches down Jean’s back on either side of his spine, and Jean moaned – clapped his hands over his mouth. “Shit, sorry, fuck.” Marco laughed, ears hot.

“It’s all right, I know how you feel.” He adjusted his perch on the chair (he couldn’t actually put his weight on it or it’d tip). He looked over the clutter of papers on the table. “Have you really covered all this in four weeks?”

“Well – no.” Jean’s chin knocked against his chest as Marco’s thumbs pressed into the join of his neck and skull. “Lord, that’s nice.” Marco smiled. Jean cleared his throat. “Most of it is, for the quiz, but some of it’s just stuff I found while studyin’ that’s pretty cool. All-nighters mean I find some weird shit in the archives.”

“I bet.” Marco worked back down Jean’s neck again, over his shoulders, before he slid his hands away. “Feel better?”

Jean shook his hair out and smiled over his shoulder. “You’re magic, Muscles.”

Marco switched from his armrest perch to leaning on the table next to him. “You think that’s magic, you should get a deep-tissue massage from one of our staff PTs sometime. Changes your life.” Jean bit his lip and tugged on the left stud in his ear. Marco crossed his arms, his ankles. He jerked his head at Jean’s notes. “G’on, tell me what it’s all about.”

Jean leant his cheek on his shoulder, smile open. “No offense, but this might go over your head a little.”

Marco shrugged and sat in the chair waiting for him at his side. “You’re a teacher, right?” He propped his elbow on the table, chin in his hand. “So teach me.”

Jean barked a laugh, orange and purple eyes bright. “You’re the weirdest football player I’ve ever met, Muscles.” Marco just shrugged. Jean shook his head and turned to his notes. “So, how much do you know about quantum physics, to start?”

Marco chuckled. “Let’s assume none, yeah?” Jean smiled, and Marco bit his cheek as he sat back and started lecturing.


	3. Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: So I lost nano hard. But I'm still gonna plow on with this fic! Yeah!!  
> Many thanks to ewdrea/videogliitch and fujoshichan69 for the Spanish help!  
> [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [tumblr tag for the au](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/tagged/jeanmarco-college-au) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

It was the Sunday night of the fifth week of the fall semester, and Marco was the only one left in the weight room of the campus gym. Now that his solitary lunch hour was being infringed upon by girls trying to get him to ask them out and guys who wanted to be his best friend (why was it never the other way around?), he had to come up with new ways to have alone time in his day. The campus recreation center had ridiculously late hours, and since Connie would keep him up anyway, Marco might as well use that time for good.

He was lost in _My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy_ when a heavy body sat down on the bench across from him. Marco took out one earbud and smiled at Reiner, who dropped his towel on the end of his bench and grinned.

“You get kicked out of your room, too?”

Marco laughed and dropped his weight to the floor. “Only by my own will. Who kicked _you_ out?”

Reiner chuckled. “Bertl; we’re rooming together this year.”

“That right?” Marco snorted. “That’s a lot of man in one dorm.”

Reiner laughed, head thrown back and echoing around the empty weight room. “Yeah, no kidding. But we make it work most of the time, but not when Bertl’s got an anatomy test in the morning.” Reiner eyed Marco’s dropped weight. “Seriously? A forty?” Marco sighed, laughing, and wiped his forehead on his shoulder.

“Reiner, I’m, like, half your weight class, dude.”

Reiner scoffed. “Always aim higher. C’mon, I bet I can out rep ya.” Marco shook his head, but took his other earbud out, pausing his iPod and tucking it away.

* * *

“Hey, yo, Butt. Scoot over.”

Marco looked up from his lunch table at Sasha, two burritos on her tray and a tasteless Patagonia pullover tied around her waist. He shrugged.

“It’s an empty table, you can sit where you want.” She groaned and plopped in the seat next to him, banging his shoulder with hers as she settled in.

“Jackass.” She unwrapped the foil of one burrito and took the biggest bite Marco had ever seen a human take. “Scho, howsha ‘uff ‘ife?”

“Say it, don’t spray it.”  Marco picked a piece of rice from his tray and flicked it back at her. “I thought Southerners were supposed to have good manners.” Sasha snorted, spraying more beans and rice.

“N’ya dreamsh, m’be.” She swallowed and took a more conservative bite. “How’s the love life?”

“Nonexistent. Why do you care?”

She grinned behind her burrito. “Jus’ makin’ sure Jean ain’t got no competition.”

Marco swirled his plastic fork in his oily pasta. “I’m still not sure where you’re coming from with all that. He’s just our TA.”

Sasha snorted. “Butt, you can’t fool me, I grew up in midtown Atlanta. I can _smell_ gay. Like gas.” She wrinkled her nose and waved her hand in front of her face. “And boy, you _reek_.”

He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, fork dangling. “Thanks for that glittering simile.”

Sasha grinned, rice in her teeth. “You know, you’re really smart for a football player.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It took you two weeks of copying my homework to realize that?”

She kicked his ankle hard. “Shut the fuck up, butthole.” Marco laughed, rolled his brow on the back of his hand. Sasha peeled away more burrito-foil and chomped down, spilling tomatoes all over her tray and her lap. Her smile shrank. “Ymir brings out the slacker in me, I know, but if you, like, want me to start doing shit. Yell at me.” She elbowed him in the side. “Use that size’a yours to your advantage!”

He huffed. “I don’t like threatening girls.”

“I’m _way_ more man than you’ll _ever_ be able to handle, punk!” She flexed a bicep and growled. His shoulders shook as he laughed, chin to his chest. She frowned at her bicep. “Needs more tats.”

They talked for a while about what tattoos she should get to bring out the maximum masculinity while she inhaled her first burrito and started on her second and Marco picked at his pasta. It only took a few minutes of that, though, before one of the innumerable scruffy white guys on campus wove over to their table and sat down on the other side of Marco.

“Hey, buddy!”

“Hey, loserdick!” Sasha leant around Marco to frown at the new guy. “You know that thing about A-B conversations? So g’on, see yourself outta here!” The guy snorted at her, but Marco crossed his arms and sat back, staring at him.

“You heard the lady.” The guy blinked and stood, backing away under their double glare. Sasha popped the last of her burrito in her mouth and eyed his pasta.

“You gonna finish that?” Marco shot her a side glance.

“What, you got a tapeworm or something?”

She shrugged. “It’s a theory.” She eyed the fork in his hand. He wrinkled his nose at her and shoved another forkful in his mouth. She pouted, sitting back in her seat. “You’re no fun.”

“I never said I was.” He spun another fork of pasta. “I think you should get a whale tattoo.”

She made a face. “A whale? Why?”

Marco blinked – a blue left foot. “Uh. No reason.” She shrugged and went back to debating tattoos while he shoveled pasta in his traitor mouth and let her talk at him.

* * *

Thursday night, his brother called.

Marco was deep in his biology lab report and senseless to his surroundings; his phone vibrating across his desk nearly sent his head through the bottom of his lofted bed. He scrambled to answer and stuck it on speaker – Connie wasn’t home yet, busy doing whatever supernatural hunters did at sunset.

“ _Hola puto_.” Yep, that was Felipe. Marco laughed.

“Hola, Fel.” Marco propped his head on his hand and tapped his pencil on his notebook. “Sup?”

“ _You had a good game on Saturday_.” (Marco’s family talked in a Spanglish designed around how much Spanish their father understood, so it was mostly English with Spanish insults thrown in.)  “ _You gotta beat up, like, six gueyes. Nice._ ”

Marco snorted. “You know, if you don’t get it, you don’t have to watch it.” Felipe took more after his mother’s soccer fanatic side than their father’s football craze.

“ _Well, it’s not like Dad’d let us watch anything else._ ” He cleared his throat, a burst of static.“ _So I have a problem_.”

“Do you now?”

“ _So, like, sabes how Homecoming’s coming up, right?_ ” Marco nodded, forgetting to say anything, but Felipe plowed on anyway. “ _Well, a girl asked me-_ ”

Marco huffed. “Really?”

“ _Yeah, cállate! Angie asked me after fifth period today, pero – do you remember Angie y Felicia? Las gemelas?_ ”

Marco shrugged, starting a spiral around the middle hole of his notebook page’s punch. “Sort of? I remember there were gemelos in your grade.”

“ _Well, they’re identical, pero Felicia is, like, five times as funny as Angie, so I sort of, uh, like Felicia, like I was gonna ask her - but Angie asked me and I wasn’t paying attention and I thought it was Feli and I said yes and I can’t take it back without being a hugeass dick because I wanted to go with your_ sister _and- ugh!_ ” He breathed, and Marco pressed his hand to his mouth. “ _You’re supposed to help me with this shit, right? Isn’t that in the definition of big brother? What do I even do?_ ” A pause. “ _You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?_ ”

Marco let it out, cackling into his notes nose-down and slapping his knee under the desk. His brother snapped at him over the phone, but that just made Marco laugh harder.

“ _It’s not frickin’ funny! Now I either gotta hurt her feelings or go with the_ wrong twin _! Stop laughing!_ ”

“M’sorry.” He wasn’t. “It’s just - how do you _do_ this? You’re only sixteen!”

“ _Yeah, well, you’re twenty and never had a guy date!_ ”

“So you’re asking me for romantic advice? _Girl_ advice?”

Felipe groaned through the phone. “ _It’s not really_ romantic _advice, it’s people advice! You’re good with people, right?_ ”

Marco drew hatches through his spiral. “Look, I dunno what to tell you, bro. They’re twins, right? If you like one, surely you can figure out how to like the other? Obvio she likes you more, anyway, since _she_ asked _you_.”

“ _No es lo mismo, they’re totally different people! Puto._ ”

Marco chuckled. “Have you told Mami or Dad?”

“ _Of course not. They’d laugh at me, too_.” Felipe was pouting down in Miami. “ _I thought you’d at least_ try _not to laugh._ ”

“No luck, Fel.” Marco sat back in his chair and crossed his ankles over the back runner that kept his bedframe from collapsing. “Besides that, which is a hole you’re just gonna have to live in, how’s life?”

“ _La vida es la vida. Crissy’s trying out for the middle school basketball team next week and keeps making me practice with her, since no estás aquí._ ”

“What, tryouts ya están aquí? I thought they weren’t until after Christmas.”

“ _I dunno, they’re being weird about it or something. I’m really tired of getting her elbow in my gut, though. How do you deal with bigger elbows in your gut all the time?_ ”

Marco laughed. “You get used to it.”

“ _Sure you do. Anyway, that’s her, the Angie-Feli thing is all that’s going on with me, and Mami and Dad son Mami and Dad. What, you wanna talk to them?_ ”

Marco sighed. “Nah, tengo tarea, and Mami’ll wanna talk for, like, two hours. Diles que dije hi, though.”

“ _Sure thing._ ” Felipe went quiet for a moment, and Marco tried to figure out where he was in his lab report again. “ _I wonder si puedo ir with_ both _twins? Like a double date but only me?_ ”

Marco lost it, crumbling into shakes of laughter all over his biology notes.

* * *

“Momma thinks that I’m gonna follow her into tenure,” Jean said over coffee and muffins Friday morning. (He’d brought enough for Marco, and he really didn’t need to be thinking about the implications there.) Jean sighed and rested his front teeth on the rim of his thermos. “I like teachin’, I do, but. I wanna get outta here. I’ve been in this town pretty much all my life.” He picked at the paper cup of his muffin. “As long as you take out the summers followin’ Daddy ‘round Europe, watching him clean soldier teeth.”

Marco picked a blueberry out of his muffin. “Soldier teeth?”

Jean showed a few teeth over his thermos lip. “Colonel Frank Kirschstein, commander a’some European-base Army dentist thing. I dunno, his title changes ‘round a lot, so I never remember what’s going on for him right then.”  He frowned at the table. “I think he’s in… Italy right now? Shoot, he may be in Romania. I dunno, like I said. He’s bad at keepin’ me’n Momma in the loop.” He shrugged. “We’re used to it.”

“My dad’s military, too.” Jean blinked up at him, eyes a solid brown today. “Ex-Navy. Desert Storm petty officer. Doesn’t have the pretty rank your dad does.” Marco smiled. “Or the pretty story, I bet.”

Jean winced. “Sorry, dude.” Marco waved it off.

“It’s all right, he’s better now. Mostly.” He sipped at his black coffee – he liked cream in it, but Jean hadn’t known his preferences and gone for basic. “What was that about tenure again?”

“Right.” Jean twisted off his thermos lid to blow on his coffee. “Well, a double major like me is sort of destined for academia, and I like the sound of Dr. Jean.” He took a pull of his coffee without the top on, steam clouding his face. “But, I ‘nno. I wanna _do_ somethin’. I wanna make somethin’ cool with my life.” He sighed, eyes on his coffee. “I kinda wanna work for NASA.” He flashed a weak smile at Marco. “Silly, right?”

Marco frowned. “I don’t think so.”

Jean huffed on his coffee. “But with those spendin’ cuts, and the hirin’ freezes…”

“Aren’t there other places that do what NASA does? That can’t be your only option to get out in the world.”

“Well, no, but they’re mostly in Europe.” He laughed, bitter as Marco’s coffee. “No one there’ll hire a hick like me.”

“Not with that kind of talk they won’t.” Jean flicked his eyes up at Marco, who bit his cheek. “How many times d’you think I’ve gotten ‘you’re really smart for a football player’ since I got here?”

Jean huffed, a few drops of coffee jumping out to stain the table. “A lot.”

Marco smiled. “There are some dumb kids on my team, sure, but there’s dumb kids everywhere. And there are lots of ways to be intelligent.” Marco sat back, cup on his stomach and ankles crossed on the table. “So, I get it.”

“Yeah.” Jean’s mismatched smile crept up his face. “I guess you do.”

* * *

Saturday’s game was another away game, down at the Citadel in Charleston, South Carolina. They’d beat North Carolina A&T last week, so the mood on the bus for the five hour drive down was loud and happy.

But they lost.

The team spent the night in Charleston instead of driving through the night to get back, but no one wanted to be there. They got to the hotel at ten at night, tired and grumpy. For once, though, Marco wasn’t the one staying in while the others went out on the town.

From: Hitch  
HHEEEEYYY WANNA PARTY TO CELEBRATE MY VICTORY  
Sat, Sep 20, 9:27 pm

From: Marco B  
Not really but it’d be nice to catch up w you  
Sat, Sep 20, 9:56 pm

From: Hitch  
Ur a loser were going out. Anyone else wanna come w? My car can hold five if u squeeze  
Sat, Sep 20, 10:03 pm

From: Marco B  
I’ll ask around  
Sat, Sep 20, 10:06 pm

From: Marco B  
I got one taker. Everyone else is exhausted  
Sat, Sep 20, 10:15 pm

From: Hitch  
From that ASS-KICKING mk what hotel u at I’ll pick y’all up  
Sat, Sep 20, 10:19 pm

Thirty minutes later, a blue Pathfinder pulled up in the drop-off zone of the hotel. Marco and Eren were waiting outside, Marco in the extra shirt and jeans he’d packed in anticipation of this, Eren in his slouchy clothes and free campus t-shirt that were the only non-football clothing he had. Hitch rolled down the passenger window as she stopped next to them. “Hey there, sexy!”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Just let us in, puta.” She laughed and unlocked the door as Marco took shotgun and Eren slid in the backseat. “Hitch, this is Eren. Eren, meet Hitch.” Hitch twisted in the driver’s seat to grin at Eren.

“Aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes.” She winked, and Eren grimaced back. “Ready to get drunk?”

“Absolutely.” Eren hadn’t played in that night’s game, but to him, that just made their loss all the harder. Hitch laughed and screamed out of the hotel parking lot.

She took them to downtown Charleston, which was basically a cleaner French Quarter, and battled for walking-distance parking from King Street. They yelled about the game on the drive down, Eren moping in the back while Hitch cawed her victory through the open window on the short highway drive. Marco laughed – there was a particular freedom to old friends.

Hitch said that they might run into some of her Citadel friends in the night, but not to count on it. Marco offered to DD – he didn’t really like alcohol, and he knew Hitch liked her mojitos. The smile he got for that reminded him why he’d asked her out in tenth grade in the first place.

She led them through the college crowds and bridal parties to a warm, wood-covered bar packed to the brim. Being inside was deafening; they communicated mostly by gesture as they squeezed into an open spot at the bar, Hitch taking Marco’s lap as her stool when they only found two, sitting sideways facing Eren. Marco got water, and Eren copied Hitch’s mojito order, handing over his fake ID with barely a twitch.

“Marco didn’t tell me – how d’y’all know each other?” Eren yelled in her ear. She laughed and leant in, bracing herself on Marco’s arm.

“We went to high school together and dated for a few months sophomore year!”

Eren frowned. “What? But he’s gay!”

Marco choked on his water, chin knocking on her shoulder. “What?” Hitch snorted into her own glass. Eren grinned around his straw.

“Man, I figured that shit out in training camp.” Hitch rubbed at her eyes, shaking in her purple halter top. Marco’s ears flamed, and he buried his face in Hitch’s bare shoulder for a moment before glaring at Eren.

“When were you gonna tell me that?”

Eren shrugged. “Didn’t seem important.”

“Oh, Marco, you poor gay bastard.” Hitch leant into his chest. “It took me two months to figure that out _for_ him back in high school! He’s just gettin’ worse, ain’t he?”

Eren shrugged again. “I sort of grew up around it, so I’m used to it.” He took another sip of his drink. “This is _really_ good.”

Marco sighed as the conversation shifted to alcohol, leaving him stirring his ice cubes around Hitch’s body and watching Eren’s two-toned face laugh at her bad jokes. They stayed there for two drinks and a basket of mozzarella sticks before paying their tab and stumbling out into the September heat. Hitch had another place lined up, less hole-in-the-wall and more rooftop. They only stayed there for a glass of wine for Hitch, though – it was hot outside, and Eren’s sweatpants stuck out more than his vitiligo at this red leather bar. They moved on to another hole-in-the-wall – a dance club – a sports bar. Marco was spending more time trying to keep Hitch in her clothes and Eren from starting a fight with anyone who looked at him funny – which was a lot of them – than keeping track of their surroundings.

In the sports bar, Hitch found three of her friends in their dress uniforms and released Marco’s arm to latch onto their necks instead. They laughed at her and shook hands with Marco and Eren as Hitch slurred through introductions for all of them, but Marco didn’t bother trying to remember their names beyond their regulation haircut colors.

“So, y’all’re on that losin’ team, yeah?” Blackhair said with a grin. “Looked like y’all were asleep out there tonight!”

Eren crossed his arms. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t get field time for shit. Blame him.” He punched Marco’s shoulder, harder than usual. Marco rubbed his arm while the Citadels laughed.

“Well, c’mon, sit down for a spell, don’t be a stranger!” Blond said, kicking out the chair next to him. Hitch sat across their laps instead, twisting her high heels around Blond’s leg and hanging an arm around Ginger’s neck. Eren and Marco took the chairs, Eren falling into his more than sitting down.

Hitch’s friends were like her – caustic, foul-mouthed, uncouth, and hilarious. They ordered another round for all of them before Marco could say he was the DD and that he didn’t even have a fake. Oh well, one beer wouldn’t hurt. He took a glass as they were passed around the table, knocking it with Blond’s next to him before taking a pull of piss.

The Citadels only wanted to talk about the game. Marco could have done without that, but he’d been in this long enough to handle an evening of smack talk. Eren, though, hadn’t, and when Marco looked over half an hour into the sports bar, his hands were shaking around his beer glass. Marco rested a hand on his forearm, but Eren slapped him away. Oh dear.

Marco leaned over to Blond’s ear. “Hey, d’ya think we could change the subject?”

Blond blinked at him, still laughing at a Hitch joke. “Wha’? Why?”

Marco flicked a glance over his shoulder at Eren, who was glaring into his empty beer glass, face red. “Eren’s got – anger issues, and he hits like a sledgehammer, so-” Blond grimaced.

“Point taken.” Blond turned back to Hitch and her lounge chair. “Hey, so how about-”

“You got somethin’ ya wanna say to me, huh?”

Marco spun around – Eren was standing, fists balled, glaring at the table behind them, full of big beardy guys in flannel and red noses. They frowned at him while Eren growled. “Don’t play stupid, y’all fuckers’ve been chit-chattin’ ‘bout me all night, g’on, say it to m’face!”

Marco fumbled for the back of Eren’s shirt to hold him back – Eren stepped forward, knuckles white on the back of the only empty chair at the beards’ table. Some of them eyed his arms and backed away, but two on the other side of the table laughed, faces red under their brown scruff.

“We’re jus’ wond’rin’ what animals fucked t’make you-”

Eren threw the chair aside to punch him across the table. Marco jumped in and hooked him under the arms, but Eren was slippery when drunk – the unpunched friends were on their feet now, and the whole bar was watching Eren as he spit fire, face splotchy red and darker red.

“I’m sorry about him!” Marco yelled as he fought to grip Eren. “He had a bad day, we’re leaving now-”

Eren kicked someone’s knee in his struggle. They roared and tried to punch Eren’s face, but missed and clipped Marco’s cheekbone. He gasped – where was his helmet, the dude had a _ring_ on – and lost his grip on Eren.

The Citadels were trying to hold Eren back now, too, but they got caught up in the Newcastle rage instead, the nearby patrons slipping out of the bar as tables got shoved into guts. Eren had no style in this kind of fight – he had his fingers snagged in someone’s beard. Marco tried to haul him away, but there were men everywhere – he could fight on the field all day long, why was this so dizzying -

The bouncers from outside stormed in to break it up. It took one of them and Marco to drag Eren outside, writhing and incoherent. The bouncer tossed Eren against a bike rack and went back in, where the fight was still raging. Marco grabbed Eren by a shoulder and shook him.

“ _¿Qu_ _é putas fue eso, serote, estás trantando de que te maten?_ ”

Eren was still shaking all over – people on the sidewalk were staring. Marco hauled Eren by the collar down the sidewalk, away from the scene of the crime. The last thing they needed was the barfight becoming a streetfight. Eren had blood in his teeth.

Marco found a skinny alley draped in ivy and silence to hide in. He pushed Eren down to sit on the brick wall lining the flowerbed. Eren wrapped his arms around his torso, curling in. Marco knelt in front of him, making Eren look up at him with a hand in his hair.

“They were callin’ me mongrel. They didn’t think I could hear ’em, or they didn’t care, what the fuck ever. But I could.” He sniffed – his nose was bleeding. He wiped it on his shoulder. “Somethin’ ‘bout zebras ‘n walruses ‘n’ dalmatians and – and-”

“ _Hey_.” Eren blinked at him, ocean eyes wide. “It’s just drunk assholes.”

Eren shook his head. “It’s not – everyone’s thinkin’ it, they just never _say_. Unless they’re drunk assholes-” He sniffed again and clutched his stomach tighter, voice tiny. “Why can’t I be normal, Marco?”

Marco’s hands slid down to hold Eren’s elbows (his elbows were white, most of him was dark, but it all felt the same) and waited until he looked up again. “No one’s normal, Eren. There’s no such thing. Some people just get to show it more. Now, I need you to breathe for me.” Eren nodded, forehead knocking into Marco’s shoulder as he inhaled, exhaled, inhaled. Marco shushed him, rubbed down his arm, staring at the creeping ivy behind Eren’s back as he listened to Eren’s wild pants even out.

Eren was mostly pulled together again when a Hitch-shadow stumbled into the mouth of the alley. “Hey!” She stormed down to them, weaving a little. “What the _shit_ was that? Marlowe’s got a broken nose!” Eren stiffened against Marco. Marco stood and frowned at Hitch, her hair falling from its ponytail.

“They were saying rude things about Eren.”

“ _What?_ Like what?” She glared at Eren – _looked_ at Eren. “Oh. _Ooh_.” She deflated. “Oh.”

“I think it’s time we went back to the hotel.” Marco held out his hand. “Keys, Hitch.” She dug blindly in her purse, drunk eyes fixed on Eren’s bent profile.

The ride back was subdued. Eren had a wad of Starbucks napkins from Hitch’s glovebox shoved against his bleeding face, groaning in the back seat. Hitch gave quiet directions back to the hotel, glancing over her shoulder at Eren but not saying anything to him.

It was almost two in the morning when they got back to the hotel. Most of the outdoor lights were off, except the ones by the front entrance. Marco parked in the lot – Hitch would catch a cab home and pick up her car in the morning. The dark, silent car ride calmed Eren down, so when they all got out, he stared at the cement as they walked to the front door, bloody napkins balled up in his fist.

“I’m sorry I got your friend’s nose broken.”

She huffed. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” She glanced at him and stopped him with a light hand on his arm. “In a month, we’ll be laughing about this.”

“Shouldn’t’ve drunk so much.”

“It’s a common sin.” She craned down into his downturned field of vision. “I’m not blaming you, okay? I want you to know that.” He nodded. She sighed and let him walk past her and into the hotel. She and Marco exchanged a glance. “He gonna be okay?”

“I think so.” Marco fell in step with her as they followed slower. “I’ve never seen it get to him like this.”

She frowned at the pavement. “Take care of that kid, okay?” She smiled up at him, front door lights shining off her eyes. “You’re good at that.”

He smiled, a quirk up on one side. “I’m trying.” They paused just outside of the circle of light. Hitch squeezed his ribs, face in his chest.

“You’re a good guy, Marco. I missed that.” He patted her back.

“I missed you, too. Sorry tonight sucked.”

She shrugged and pulled away. “Next time we’ll just do the two of us and pizza, okay?”

He smiled wide. “Sounds great.”

* * *

Eren’s bruises bloomed in the night, turning his face into a tinted rainbow. The coaches were less than impressed, but their reaction had nothing on Armin and Mikasa.

“You did _what?_ ” Armin screeched Sunday afternoon. He and Mikasa had driven over to pick them up from the stadium parking lot and not given Eren a chance to hide. Now, Marco hovered back while Armin screamed at Eren and Mikasa glowered behind him. “Eren, you can’t just go around hitting people! You’ll get arrested!” Armin slapped Eren’s arm; Eren flinched more than the hit was worth. Armin’s forehead furrows vanished. “Did they hurt you bad, honey?” Eren shook his head, staring at his toes.

“N’really. Marco wouldn’t let them.” Armin and Mikasa remembered Marco existed then and swung to him. He held his hands up and backed away.

“Whoa there. They started it.” Marco laughed, too loud. Their posture shifted back. Marco swallowed another laugh. “It wasn’t that big of a deal, really.”

Mikasa _hmph_ ed and stepped closer to frown at Marco's cheek and the red crescent there. “You’ve got a flower, too.” Marco touched his cheekbone with a wince.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. It’s just a bruise; I’ve had worse.” Mikasa narrowed her eyes, but Marco just adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Well, y’all probably wanna get your invalid back home, so I’ll just head on back to my dorm. Nice seein’ y’all.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Mikasa grabbed his trailing forearm – what were they _eating_ in that house to give them these vice grips? – and hauled him to their car. “Armin and I made lunch for the four of us, no matter what happened in South Carolina.” Her mouth twitched up, almost a smile. “You don’t get to wiggle out of this one, bucko.”

Marco laughed under his breath. “What’d y’all make?”

“Like, a mountain of stir fry. Eren’ll eat it all unless you’re there.” Marco smiled and gave in, sliding into the back seat next to a sulking Eren as a steaming Armin yanked the Subaru into gear and wove through the scattering football players and out of the parking lot.

* * *

That evening, Marco escaped the trio’s clutches and Connie’s ghosts again to the gym and found Reiner waiting on him. He tried to smile and rubbed at his bicep to try and loosen it up for the torment that was to come. “Got kicked out this weekend, too?”

Reiner grinned and shrugged. “Something like that.” He slung his towel around his neck. “Ready to work?”

Marco sighed, still smiling. “With you? Always.”

Reiner was a friendly type who was good at small talk, but he barely said anything as they carded through the gym entrance and wove through the empty weight room to the corner unofficially reserved for the football team. Marco didn’t mind, getting into his own headspace with his earbuds turned low and hanging loose in his ears. After a few minutes, Reiner cleared his throat.

“Say, Marco.” Marco looked up from where he was adding a weight to his benchpress bar. Reiner was leaning over his own bar, notched up high, and staring at the mirror across the room from them vacantly. “You ever have roommate issues?”

“Sure. Everyone’s got’em.” Marco propped an elbow up on the benchpress support. “But I thought you and Bertl got along pretty well. He seems chill.”

“He is.” Reiner sighed; Marco’s eyebrows drew together. “Never mind.” Marco frowned, eyes narrowed.

“What’s going on, Reiner?”

Reiner shook his head and pushed around to lie on the bench properly, adjusting his grip on the bar. “Nothing, just thinkin’. C’mon, spot me.”

Marco huffed and left his weights to stand by Reiner’s head.

* * *

“Whoa there, Butt, who doesn’t like _you?_ ”

Marco dropped his bag at his chair in physics lab and sighed. “You too, Ymir?”

Ymir grinned around the pen she was chewing on. “Of course, Butt, how could I resist?” Marco rolled his eyes and dug his lab notebook out from a side pocket. “Seriously, though, who’d hate you enough to hit you without your helmet on?” She flicked the dangling spring of the tension coil. “You’re, like, the least offensive person I know.”

Marco smiled. “Is that a compliment?”

Ymir shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Marco tugged at his bangs and traced light fingertips over the purple and blue bruise on his cheekbone, red crescent bleeding into a semicircle. “No, I was trying to keep someone else from making a bad decision and got caught in the crossfire. That’s all.”

Ymir chuckled. “Half expected you to say that you saved a baby from a runaway carriage.” Marco laughed, chin to his chest.

Jean came into the room then, breathing fast and distracted. Sasha was right behind him and punched his arm as she passed him at the podium. “You’re late, nerd.” Jean made a face at her; Marco laughed, an ugly snort. Jean swung around to stick his tongue out at him, but frowned instead.

“Don’t you fellas wear helmets and shit?”

Marco shrugged with a half grin. “I don’t live my whole life behind a facemask.” Jean frowned harder, then shrugged and started to unpack for the lab.

Sasha flitted through the tables and drew a heavy, soft hand down Marco’s arm as she went by, making him shiver and bat it away. “Hey, Butt.”

“Stop that.” She winked at him, then started gabbing with Ymir.

Jean sent Marco’s face worried looks whenever he thought Marco wasn’t looking all through the lab. Sasha and Ymir dicked around the whole time, as per usual, leaving Marco to do eighty percent of the work and making them the last ones to finish. Sasha’s week-old promise seemed to have faded into her goldfish memory.

Jean helped them wrap up the lab when the last other group had trickled out. The two of them working together got the results filled out in just a few minutes. Jean shot Sasha and Ymir a look out of the corner of his eye and leant in to whisper at Marco, “I can dock their grade if you want.”

“What?” Marco shook his head. “No, it’s all right, they’re fine.”

Jean snorted, deep in his throat, but didn’t comment, instead frowning at Marco’s face again. “You really don’t look so hot, Muscles.”

Marco shrugged. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore, it’s just pretty to look at.” He jotted down a measurement and almost passed out when Jean poked his cheek with his pen. “ _¡Coño!_ " Marco held his forehead while the nausea passed. Sasha gasped.

“Marco! Language!”

“What, what’d he say?”

Jean laughed over both of them, ignoring Marco’s slit-eyed glare. “Sure, it feels just fine, big guy.” Jean patted his arm. “Y’all g’on, git outta here. Y’all’re done for.” Marco slapped his lab notebook shut, face still throbbing, and chucked it into his bag, pulling a face as his head protested its changes in angle. Sasha and Ymir were chattering about Spanish curse words now, but Marco didn’t feel like contributing to a topic he and his brother had researched so extensively. Jean was still leaning on the lab table next to him, pulling on the tension spring and watching it bounce. He glanced down at Marco where he knelt on the floor, rearranging the contents of his bag. “See ya Friday?”

Marco huffed and nodded. Sasha’s head swung around like a bloodhound catching the scent of a raccoon. _Coño._

* * *

From: Felipe  
So I just accidentally told Felicia that I like her not her hermana  
Thu, Sep 25, 11:46 am

From: Marco  
How do you do that accidentally? How’d she take it?  
Thu, Sep 25, 11:48 am

From: Felipe  
It happens!  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:01 pm

From: Felipe  
Uh she. She got kinda mad? But not encabronada  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:04 pm

From: Felipe  
No se we were in class so she couldn’t hit me  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:05 pm

From: Marco  
That’s a good sign I guess. Did she mention her hermana?  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:09 pm

From: Felipe  
Noooo. Oh god I’m a pirujo  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:15 pm

From: Marco  
I knew that when you hit puberty  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:18 pm

From: Felipe  
SHUT THE FUCK UP PUTO  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:21 pm

Sasha plopped herself down next to Marco’s pasta and phone. “So, are you and Jeanny-boy dating and you didn’t tell me?”

Marco blinked, smile from his brother’s insult still on his face. “Uh, what? No! Why?”

She pouted at him. “So what was all that whispering about Friday about?”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “I’ve been going to his office hours for a while, just to keep up and stuff. Nothing major.” Her stare bore into the side of his head, but he ignored her eye-drilling.

From: Marco  
I think you should just accept that youre not gonna have a good time at homecoming this year  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:24 pm

“Who’re you texting there?” Sasha wrapped a hand around his arm and propped her chin on his shoulder to read over his shoulder. He dimmed his screen.

“My brother. He’s having girl trouble.” She snorted.

“And he’s asking _you?_ ”

“That’s what I said, but he keeps coming back.” His phone vibrated.

From: Felipe  
ANGIE JUST SAT BESIDE ME AT LUNCH QUE HAGO????  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:28 pm

Marco groaned and shoved his phone at Sasha. “Here, you deal with him.”

Sasha laughed. “Okay, so what’s the sitch?”

“He got asked to some dance by the twin he didn’t like and he said yes.” Sasha clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back her disgusting laughter. Marco grinned. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, man, this is rich.” She flipped through the text history, laughing all the while. “Is it Angie or Felicia?”

“Felicia’s the one he likes.” She chortled, rocking in her seat. “High schoolers, right?”

“And they say college kids are complicated.” She tapped at his screen.

From: Marco  
Tell her her hair looks pretty, then break her heart  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:31 pm

From: Felipe  
No puendo I have eng with her after this!  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:33 pm

“Your brother’s name is Felipe?” She tore open her chip bag and shoved some in her mouth. “Ho’ ol’ s’he?”

“Seventeen. He’s a junior in high school.” She nodded, chewing with her mouth open as she typed out another text.

From: Marco  
Well compliment her anyway girls like compliments.  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:36 pm

From: Felipe  
I want her to like me less no más!  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:38 pm

From: Marco  
Ooh then do it sneaky backhanded. Like ‘your hair looks better than yesterday’ or smth  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:40 pm

Marco looked over her shoulder at his phone. “What terrible things are you telling him?”

“How to convince her to break her own heart.” She winked at him, tongue and a chip caught between her teeth. “All girls are pros at this.”

He laughed. “If you say so.”

From: Marco  
This isn’t your bro btw it’s his friend sasha  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:42 pm

From: Felipe  
Por dios he has friends HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN YOU  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:43 pm

From: Marco  
Since the pretty hair thing  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:44 pm

Sasha laughed, setting the phone down on the table to attack her sandwich. “So it’s not just the elder that’s unlucky in love.” Marco sneered at her. She giggled around her ham and cheese before swallowing. “So, you know we’ve got a test comin’ up next week in physics, right?”

Marco groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Why me?”

She nudged him with her elbow. “With all those Friday morning sessions, you should be super ready for it, right?” He groaned louder. “You know you wanna do a study party with me and Ymir, right?”

He looked at her from between his fingers. “What on Earth makes you think that’s a good idea?”

“Aw, c’mon, it’ll be fun. We may even learn something.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and picked his phone back up. “I’m adding my number so I can text you when me’n Ymir are meeting up, yeah?”

He sighed. “Fine.” She wiggled her nose at him as his phone vibrated in her hand.

From: Felipe  
Do you think it’d be a bad idea to try go with las dos then?  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:50 pm

From: Marco  
YES  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:51 pm

From: Felipe  
Carajo  
Thu, Sep 25, 12:51 pm

* * *

It was Friday morning of the sixth week of the fall semester, and Marco grabbed two scones from the cafeteria and a handful of packets of powdered coffee creamer on his way to Jean’s office hours. It was fall chill outside now, the leaves thinking about turning and the wind biting on the early morning. The escape indoors to the science building felt like the first hot chocolate of the season. Campus was going to have to start shaking out its fleeces soon.

Jean still had his hat on up in the Lindsay room, red and black striped ski cap pulled over his ears so just a tuft of bleached bangs fluffed out of the front. He blinked awake when Marco opened the door and smiled at him. “Hey there. Looking good.” Marco smiled, ears still red from the wind, as Jean’s brown eyes went round. “Uh, shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant – your shiner-” Marco bit his lip and sat down next to him.

“It’s all right, Jean, I don’t mind if you think I’m pretty.” Jean coughed, face red. Marco took the paper cup of coffee waiting for him and tore open two packets of creamer, watching Jean’s face shift from embarrassed through flustered to confused. He stirred in the creamer with a mechanical pencil.

Jean tilted his head at him, face still pink behind his coffee thermos. “You – you don’t?”

Marco shook his head. “I spent too long having my younger sister complain to me and my brother about how all the girls won’t shut up about how cute we were to care about all that too much.” Jean choked on his coffee, hand pressed to his mouth. Marco smiled, a slow spread across his face, as Jean coughed. He sat back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table, watching Jean over the rim of his coffee cup.

Jean regained control of his lungs, but kept staring at the table in front of him. Marco sighed into the steam and sipped – more palatable than last week’s now - and waited. Jean’s throat worked in a swallow, tongue tracing his chapped bottom lip. “Last time I told a guy he was pretty, I got a bruised rib for my trouble.”

Marco hummed. “There are some people like that out there.” Jean flicked his eyes to him. “But I’m not one of them.” Jean’s eyes softened, and Marco grinned. “Would it help if I told you you were pretty, too?”

Jean snorted and shoved at his ankle. “Shut up.”

“No, really! I’ve always had a thing for chicken legs.” Jean punched his calf, face scrunched up to hide his smile. Marco kicked his feet off the table and leant his elbows on it instead. “Do I know this other guy?”

“Probably not.” Jean flashed him a bright grin. “I can fight my own battles, Muscles.”

“Debatable.” Jean huffed and tugged off his hat, ruffling his hat hair back into shape. Marco checked - the metal stud was still there. He almost believed him.

Jean dove to the side to fish in his backpack on the chair next to him. “Anyway, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this since lab, but I didn’t want to start a ruckus in front’a your lab partners.” He came back with his phone and tossed it over to Marco, who caught it with the tips of his fingers. Jean rolled his eyes. “Showoff.” Marco winked. “Anyway, add your number in.”

Marco frowned at the phone, searching for the button to wake it up. Jean sighed and did it for him, fingers brushing. Marco looked up at him. “Why?”

“So that next time some idiot friend’a yours decides it’s a good time to start a tussle, you’ve got someone to drive y’all’s sorry asses home.” Marco smiled, eyes narrowed.

“We were in South Carolina when that happened.” Jean shrugged.

“Well, when you’re in helping range, then.” Jean frowned at him, leaning hard on one elbow and staring him down. “You need to stop bein’ everybody’s momma and take care of yourself for once, pal.”

Marco nodded, smile still crinkling his eyes. “Yessir.” He added himself as a contact and gave the phone back. “That goes for you, too, y’know.”

Jean made a face. “No thanks, I already got a momma, and she’s more than enough momma to go ‘round.” Marco chuckled.

“Well, if you ever need someone slightly bigger and younger than her, you know who to call.” Jean sent off a text to him, and Marco felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

“Sure thing, big guy.” Marco smiled and reached for a scone, pushing the other one at Jean. Jean laughed. “See, you’re tryin’ ta momma me now.”

Marco waved him off. “It’s just payback for last time.” Jean shrugged and broke off a corner of the triangle, pulling a leg up to lean against his thigh. Marco pinched off his own bite of crumbling scone, losing himself in his coffee and the early morning silence of campus.

The silence was shattered at the end of their scones by someone Marco vaguely recognized from one of the other tables in their lab bursting in, circles under her eyes and curly hair escaping its slapdash bun. She had a large coffee from the cafeteria coffee stand in one hand and her lab notebook clutched in the other, backpack falling off one shoulder. She looked at Jean with wide eyes. “Hi.”

Jean smiled. “Hi there. Can I do somethin’ for y’all?”

“I just – I don’t _get_ this whole inverse square thing, it’s flyin’ right over my head-” She stopped when she saw Marco there and clutched her coffee and notebook tighter. “Oh. Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all. C’mon, take a load off.” Jean took his backpack out of the chair next to him and tossed it to the side, spinning it around for her to sit in. She did, shock-straight, and twisted her bun tighter. Marco smiled.

“It’s all right, I won’t bite. I’m here for the same reasons you are.” Jean flicked a side glance at him, but focused on the new girl.

“All right, so explain what you’re hung up on, but slower.” She bit her tongue and nodded, flipping open her lab notebook and dropping her backpack to a slump at her feet. Marco leant in and watched over his coffee cup.             


	4. Tests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I had to break up my usual two-weeks-a-chapter structure so this chapter wouldn't take forever, but I promise there's still a lot of shit going on it this one. Thanks again to ewdrea/videogliitch for the translating help! [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

It was Monday morning of the seventh week of the fall semester, and Marco was reduced to guessing on his ecology test. He’d studied for this almost on the sidelines of their game against Chattanooga, but all of these mesos and epochs just slithered out of his head when he opened the test. The professor didn’t even have the graces to let him guess – the majority of the test questions were short answer. Que se joda.

Marco slipped out of the lecture hall at the bell, tossing his hood up to hide his shame. People would stop saying he was smart for a football player if they could see that performance, his twisting stomach whispered to him.

He stopped in at the dining hall before he had to run to physics - Jean’s mom’s class. Outside the glass doors, standing by a folding table, was Armin, turtleneck on his sweater unrolled to his chin and handing out flyers. Marco smiled and lowered his hood.

“Hey, Ar.” Armin looked up from straightening his display and smiled.

“Marco!” He flicked his bangs out of his face. “How y’all doin’?”

Marco shrugged. “I’ve been worse.” He jerked his chin at the table. “What’s goin’ on this week?”

Armin shrugged back, hopping up to sit on the rickety table. Marco snapped a hand out to hold it steady. “Just mid-season recruitment.” Armin grinned, laughing. “Know anyone on your team who’d want to join the LGBT club?”

“I can give you their names and numbers.” He crossed his arms and leant a hip on the table, smiling at Armin’s stunned blink. “I could even tell ya who wouldn’t beat you up for asking.”

Armin’s mouth fell open to show crooked teeth. “I was jokin’!”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “What, Eren didn’t tell you?” Armin stared. Marco bent in closer to murmur, “I’m gay, Ar. Gay as Broadway.” He straightened, tugging at the hair at the back of his head. “Could never really get the whole singin’ and dancin’ at the same time thing down, though.”

Armin barked a laugh, clapping a hand to his red face. “Really?”

“Sure.” Marco watched Armin’s glittering blue eyes, tugging on his earlobe as his mouth quirked up. “What, seriously? You hadn’t figured it out already?” Armin groaned and buried his face in his hands. Marco laughed, chin to his chest and eyes closed. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Oh my _God_.” Armin moaned into his palms. “I am the worst president _ever_.”

Marco grinned. “We can’t all be born with a functioning gaydar, I guess.” Armin peered at him from between his fingers.

“Did you _tell_ Eren?”

Marco shook his head. “Nah, he figured it out on his own. Didn’t ask how, though.” Marco shrugged. “I usually wait for people to find out in their own time.”

Armin sighed, hands falling, and scooted himself closer to Marco, careful to avoid disturbing his display. “So, like, I know coming out is a super heteronormative piece of crap. But how out are you?”

Marco smiled, no teeth. “No one who hits me every day knows.” Armin gave the same tight smile back. “But I don’t lie if people ask.”

“Makes sense.” Armin gazed out over the campus crowd, tongue caught between his teeth. “Who’d’ve thought we’d have a gay football player at _this_ school.”

“There’s six, actually.” Armin’s head swung to him, big eyes wide and tip of his tongue out. Marco thought in finger drums on his bicep. “Well, six who I’ve puzzled out, anyway. There’s another dozen or so I’m still working on, and a few like Eren who only have eyes for the game.” Armin’s tongue tilted down with his shifting bite. Marco bit his lip on a laugh. “Wanna hear about the lesbian cheerleaders, too?”

Armin made an ugly choking noise, knuckles white around the edge of the table. “And none of them are gonna join my club, are they?”

Marco glanced over the technicolor table. “Not like that, they won’t.” Armin sighed, head knocking down. “Look, this town ain’t the best to be queer in. You know that.” Armin shrugged, nodded. “What people want is something safe, something they can turn to for help when things go sour. A support network, a place to feel comfortable with what they are.” _A sunlit conference table-_ Marco shook his head. “Most of us’ve been shut in the closet for so long, lookin’ at all this is like a flashlight on your face.”

Armin huffed and flicked his bangs out of his face with a head jerk, smiling sidelong at Marco. “You wanna be my vice?”

Marco laughed. “Maybe some other semester.” Marco’s stomach growled under his folded arms. “Right now I gotta eat.”

Armin nodded, hopping off the table. “Sure thing.” He pulled his ponytail tighter. “You take care, now.”

“You too, kid.” Armin’s nose wrinkled on his smile as Marco waved and turned away, Armin’s gaze losing focus as he lost himself in his plans.

* * *

Ymir and Sasha invited themselves over for the physics study party the second they learned he lived in the haunted dorm. He tried to talk them out of it, that he’d never seen a ghost and it was just another old, cramped dorm, but Tuesday after practice came and found the two of them taking up Connie’s empty bed and Marco’s desk while he tried to hide from them behind his textbook on his top bunk. 

“So you’ve never, like, felt a cold breeze when taking a dump at night? Not even a little one?”

Marco covered his head with his lab notebook. “Sasha, _no_ , for God’s sake, leave it alone so we can work!”

“I wonder if ghosts have to obey the laws of physics?” Ymir asked as she tried to balance her pencil on the long arch of her nose. “We should go catch one and ask it.”

Marco groaned into his duvet. “Not you, too.”

“Can’t hear ya, Butt!” He’d throw this textbook at Ymir’s face if it didn’t cost so much. Instead, he flipped his notebook off his head and hauled around to glare at the two beneath him.

“Look, I dunno about y’all, but I’d really like to pass this class, and I can’t do that with y’all yammering about ghosts or butts or whatever. If y’all won’t focus then I _will_ kick you out to fend for yourselves in the wilds.”

Ymir raised an eyebrow as her pencil slid off her nose. “I thought you were from Miami, bitch.”

Marco scowled. “There’re a lot of rednecks on my team.” He gave his best big-brother glare at both of them. “We gonna work or what?”

Ymir sighed and stretched for her pencil, rolling away. “Fine, fine, hardass, don’t get your panties in a wad.” Sasha groaned and opened her textbook with a freshly-printed crack. Marco sniffed.

They got through two of the five labs they’d had so far before Connie came home. He banged in like usual, but froze in the doorway when all three of them looked at him, a surprised grimace on his face. “Why are there girls in our room?”

Ymir jerked her chin up. “Sup. I’m gay.”

Connie flashed her a thumbs-up, but his face stayed stuck like that. Marco heaved himself around to face him, arms hanging off the mattress. “Connie, these creatures are Sasha and Ymir, my physics lab partners. Idiots, this is my roommate Connie.” Marco sat up and put his feet over the edge of the bed. “C’mon, fools, let’s clear out, four people in this room is two too many.”

“No, no, it’s cool!” Connie stepped into the room, leaving the door open as he dug around in his desk. He made a flicker of eye contact with Sasha, who’d hugged his pillow to her chest for support at some point. Sasha chucked it to the side, clutching her knees instead. “I’m just gonna go grab my camera and head on down to the basement, y’all ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me.” Sasha perked up, eyes bright at ‘basement’.

“That’s the place where the chick died, right?” Connie glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been trying to capture her but I’m not having any luck yet-” She hopped off his bed and into his space, making him lean back.

“Can I come?”

“Uh-” Connie grinned, one shoulder jerking up. “Sure?”

“ _Sash_.” Marco glared at her from the ceiling. “Do you _want_ to fail?”

She waved him off. “I won’t _fail_ , Mr. Mom. If I find the ghost I’ll ask it about the visible spectrum, okay?” She latched onto Connie’s elbow and dragged him out the open door, Connie sending Marco a big-eyed stare as he got whipped down the hall, camera strap on his head instead of over it. Marco laughed despite himself, bending down to look at Ymir, who hadn’t stopped texting since they’d started.

“Well? You gonna go, too?”

Ymir sighed, long and heavy, and got to her feet to close the door. “The girlfriend’s bitchin’ at me for not studyin’, so, sorry bro, you’re stuck with me.”

Marco sighed back, and she flicked him off. He laughed and slipped off his bed, sliding Connie’s chair over and sitting backwards on it, facing his desk and her. “What ‘bout Sasha?” Ymir flipped her hand, still texting with the other.

“She’s, like, stupid magic or some shit with tests, don’t bother worryin’ about her. She’ll get higher’n both of us, no matter what.” She sent off the text, then tossed her phone back on Connie’s bed. “All right, Butt. Teach me.”

He bit his tongue, half smiling as he rested his chin on the back of the chair. “I’m in this class same as you.”

She shrugged, flopping back on the chair. “Yeah, but I don’t spend two hours every Friday flirting with the TA.” Marco scowled, temples burning. She grinned. “Don’t think me’n crazy down there haven’t figured you out, little boy.” He rubbed at his face.

“S’against the rules to flirt with your grader.”

“Not in so many words.” Ymir was back to balancing her pencil on her nose. “But it’s totally bad form.”

Marco hid his face against his forearms. “Can we just study, please?”

Ymir’s pencil tipped off her nose towards Marco as he peeked out. He caught it before it hit her shoulder. She laughed and took it back. “Nice hands, Butt.” She flipped the pencil over in the air. “You play basketball?”

“My sister does. _Focus_.”

She sighed and slid her textbook off the desk into her lap. “We were on optics, right?”

* * *

Reiner and Bertl had been weird around each other for going on a week now. They were never the typical center and offensive guard, but that had always been a friendly, close kind of atypical. With the sinking temperature, though, their previously steady friendship cooled. Marco found his hands full with Reiner at the gym more, and he hadn’t been so sore since his freshman training camp. Bertl withdrew into his turtle-shell, spending water breaks alone on the bench, staring at the lime toes of his cleats. Marco was too busy practicing to notice their weirdness much, though, and he definitely didn’t have time to worry about it. It hadn’t started affecting their game yet, so they could sort themselves out on their own.

Wednesday afternoon, they were running some of Eren’s playbook to see if they’d gotten any closer to his level. Eren handed the ball off to Marco, who was supposed to sneak through the hole between Reiner and Bertl – a hole that wasn’t there. Mierda.

He jerked to the side too late, but he stepped all wrong and his knee twisted and _caved_. A cleat crushed his ankle-

Whistles shrieked in his ears, but all he could hear were his own gasps and white pain sparking up his left leg.

Someone unclipped his helmet and slid it off. “Marco? Sweetie, are you okay?”

The setting sunlight and fresh air cleared his head enough to get him sitting up and staring in the face of the lead physical trainer hovering in front of him. “Hey, Pet.”

Her hat brim shaded all but her smile. “It’s your knee, huh?” She brushed it with gentle fingers, and he gasped when it throbbed.

“And my ankle.” She nodded, then looked behind him and beckoned her waiting aide forward to help him up. The jostling made him dizzy, hovering teammates swimming around him. The aide helped him hobble away as the offensive coordinator yelled at the rest of them to stop rubberneckin’ and get their asses back to work.

They paused on the sidelines to shuck Marco’s pads, then continued off the field into the physical therapy office hidden under the bleachers. Like most of the starting line, Marco’d been here countless times, from workout consultations to minor scrapes to things like today. The white walls faded in and out with the pain as they laid him on one of the beds. Petra shooed the aide away as she snapped on gloves, her soft voice asking if that hurt, if _that_ hurt, can you bend your knee, can you move your foot for me, there’s a dear…

His breathing settled through her exam, head getting used to this spinning world again. He pushed himself up on his elbows to check out his leg. Petra smiled at him from down there. “You’ve sprained your knee, hon.” He groaned and flopped back down on the bed. She laughed. “Good news is, your ankle’s just bruised, so it’ll be fine in a few days.” She sighed, and something slimy crept up from his stomach into his chest. “You’ll need about a month for the knee, though.” He sucked in a breath, staring at a ceiling square hard enough to see shapes in the dots (an owl, mostly). Petra’s gloved hand rested on his shin. “Sorry, hon.”

He gave the slimy thing a few breaths to wriggle around before he swallowed on it and sat up. “Okay. What do I need to do?” Petra smiled.

“Always so practical.” She peeled off her gloves. “Best thing you can do until we can get you to a doctor is RICE it, but I’m gonna give you a brace and crutches-” He groaned, already feeling his armpits aching. She laughed. “Would you rather have a wheelchair?” He grimaced. “That’s what I thought.” She dug around in the drawers under the bed and came back up with a pillow to slip under his knee. He winced when she lifted his leg, but he was already starting to get used to the pain. “You got any Advil at home?”

He wiped his face (he was still disgusting from practice) with the hem of his damp shirt. She pulled a towel from the stack next to the pillows and handed it over. “Thanks.” He toweled off his face, slinging it around his neck before prodding at his swelling knee. “Probably not enough for this thing, ma’am.”

She laughed - Marco had always thought her laugh could cure cancer. “Let’s go ahead and dose you up, then, and you can rest here until you’re ready to head home. You didn’t drive here, did ya?”

Marco shook his head. “No, I-” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Ay güey, I have lab right after this, I gotta-”

“Now hold your horses, little mister.” She held him down with a hand on his chest, leveling her eyes at him. “You gotta _rest_ now, mkay? You got any friends there who’ll pass on notes or somethin’?”

He huffed. “None who’ll _take_ notes. It’s a test review lab, please, the test is tomorrow-”

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “You boys’ll be the death of me one day.” She paused, eyes closed behind the tips of her fingers. Marco waited, fingers working at his thigh above his knee. She slapped his hand away.

“All right, here’s what we’ll do.” She took off her baseball cap and buried her fingers in her ponytail-tight hair. “It’ll take a little while to dig out a good brace and crutches from the supply room, and you need to go get this checked out by health services for your big pill prescription, so until then, you’re sittin’ tight and icing up that knee until you get frostbite. Then I’ll drive you over to whatever God-forsaken class has a test tomorrow, since I’m sure there’s not a machine in that parking lot that won’t sprain that knee even more by just bein’ inside it.” She dropped her hands and smiled at him. “That work for ya, sugar?”

Marco nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She patted his shin soft enough not to jar him. “I’ll get Ollie to get your things so you don’t have to go to class in your cleats. Although these pants are tight enough to be a brace in themselves.” She smiled, and he tried to smile back. She sighed. “T’snot the end of the world, hon. You’ll be fine in no time.” He nodded; she stared him down for a hard moment, then turning to call for the missing aide (and probably chew off the ear of whatever coach she saw first). Marco frowned at his swelling knee, then flopped back on the bed and scowled at the owl in the ceiling, hands hanging off the edge of the bed. Great.

* * *

He hobbled into lab ten minutes late and pits already mad at him. He had to fight the door to get it open, but it only took a few seconds before Jean did it for him, frowning. “If you’re gonna be late-” Jean froze when he saw the brace over Marco’s sweats. “Holy shit.”

Marco faked a smile. “Just a sprain. Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh, sure, yeah.” Jean stepped aside and held the door open for him. The lab was only half-full – review sessions were optional, technically – but everyone was craning to look past Jean at whatever’d made him curse. Not again. Marco crutched his way through the lab, people moving stools and backpacks out of his path. Sasha wasn’t here, but Ymir was, on her feet and eyebrows drawn together.

“Here, lemme get your bag,” she said when he got close, spinning out a stool for his ass and one for his foot. He propped his crutches on the lab table and hopped into the seat. 

One of the guys at the table next to them leaned over. “So, does this mean you’re out of the game Saturday?”

Ymir bared her teeth at him. “What do you think, genius?” she snarled. Marco's wince as he lifted his leg onto the other stool outshone his grin. He’d never really appreciated that Ymir was also a varsity athlete until this moment.

“All right, jerks, stop your rubberneckin’, unless y’all _want_ to fail tomorrow.” All heads whipped around to Jean, who gave them his fake smirk. “That’s what I thought. Collin, you had a question, yeah?”

Ymir gave any lingering starers her stink eye and she helped Marco prop his leg up and get the ice pack Petra’d given him situated, then sat back down and scribbled in her notebook.

**What tf happened?**

_Wrong turn @ practice_

**Harsh bro. How long you out?**

_PT said a month_

**Daaaaaaaaaamn. You need anything?**

_Dunno, it just happened like an hour ago_

**Fair. Well here’s my # if you need a dude punched**

At that, Ymir tore off a corner of their note paper and jotted her number down, folding it up and sliding it over. Marco took it with a smile and tucked it in the pages of his lab notebook before turning to the board, where Jean was scratching out a diagram, blue chalk dust in his hair.

The class ended when they ran out of questions an hour or so later, and the first thing Jean did when he finished wiping down the board was beeline to Marco. “Hey, big guy. You okay?”

Marco opened his mouth to lie. “Not really.” His leg was stiff and chilled from being like that for so long, and bringing it down sent painful tingles all over his skin. “I hate this.”

“Can’t blame ya there.” Jean wrapped the thawing ice pack in some paper towels from the side of the room, tucking it in a side pouch of Marco’s bag. “You need a ride?” he asked from the floor, face hidden by spiked hair.

Marco glanced at Ymir as Jean’s head was down, pointing at her and mouthing, ‘ _You?_ ' She shook her head with a shrug as Jean looked up. Marco smiled. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Jean mismatch-smiled up at him, catching Marco off guard. “Course not, I’d feel lousy makin’ ya walk all the way across campus like that when ya made the effort to get to my class.” He tossed Marco’s lab notebook in the right pocket and zipped it all up before slinging it on his shoulder, grunting. “Dang, whatcha got in here, a cinderblock?” Marco tried to reach for it, but Jean stepped out of his range. “It’s cool, man, don’t worry ‘bout it.” Ymir was laughing at them behind Jean’s back, fingers stuffed in her mouth. Marco scowled at both of them.

“I can take care of myself, y’know.”

Jean snorted. “Didn’t your momma ever teach ya not to look a gift horse in the mouth?” He jerked his head towards the door. “C’mon, kid, let’s get you home.” Marco gave Ymir a last glare before tucking his crutches under and following.

Jean kept pace beside him on the twilight walk to the parking lot between buildings, both bags weighing him down like Marco’s crutches. “So, when’d it happen?”

“This afternoon.” Jean started, making a face at him.

“Wait, you _just_ got injured and you trucked it over to _my_ class? Kid, you’ve got some problems.”

Marco grinned. “Maybe I just didn’t want to miss a chance to see your chickenlegs.”

Jean laughed, hefting Marco’s bag on his shoulder to scratch at the line of his undercut. “Yeah, sure you did.” His hand fell to roll the bar in his cartilage. “You ready for the test tomorrow?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Marco frowned at the ground – campus hadn’t repaved these sidewalks in _decades_. “I hope so.”

“You’ll be fine.” Marco glanced up to catch Jean’s red smile. “You’re quick, Marco. I like that. I think you’ll own it.”

Marco smiled, the easiest he’d had since lunch. “Yeah?” Jean nodded, turning and digging for his keys in his backpack, the rare streetlight lighting up his ears and the back of his neck bright red.

“Sure you will. I mean, I wrote the damn thing, I should know.” He came back with his keys and pressed the clicker. Five empty spots away, a yellow Mustang with a black stripe down the middle flashed its lights. Marco snorted, started laughing until he had to stop in the middle of the parking lot to keep from falling on his knee again. Jean stopped with him, grinning like a maniac.

“ _That’s_ your car?” Marco wheezed out. Jean spun his keys on their ring.

“Sure is. Sorry it’s not a Subaru.” Marco almost lost his grip on his right crutch when he started coughing. “Need me to come pick you up here, kid?”

“No, no, I can make it.” Marco was still smiling when he got back to crutching. “You always surprise me.”

“Right back at ya, big guy.” Jean beat him to the passenger side and threw their bags in the backseat and shoved the seat all the way back while Marco ran a hand down the paint job.

“She got a name?”

“He sure does.” Jean straightened and held the door open wide for Marco. “Meet Spirit, the stallion of the Cimarron.”

On top of everything else that ached, Marco’s stomach hurt from laughing. “You’re terrible.”

Jean grinned. “G’on, get in so I can get ya home.”

Marco hopped his way into the car while Jean went around the front of the car to the driver’s side, turning the car on and the blaring radio down while Marco propped his crutches between his knees and leant out to close the door. When the car dealership ad wasn’t deafening them anymore, Jean looked at Marco. “A’ight, where’m I headin’?”

“East Hall. It’s by-”

“No shit, you live in the haunted dorm? Killer.” Jean backed out of the spot, yanked the car out of reverse and revved out of the lot, transmission grinding. “How do ya sleep at night?”

“Well, when my roommate doesn’t wake me up with ghost hunting, just fine.” Jean merged onto the main road, street lights casting his bleached hair orange. His teeth flashed.

“So, no premonitions? No bumps in the night?”

Marco crossed his arms and sat back. “Unlike y’all rednecks around here, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“What, I thought y’all Cathys fed on ghosts and shit?” A pause. “Wait, shit, are you Catholic or am I an asshole?”

Marco laughed, chin to chest. “It’s all right, it’s a fair assumption.” He knocked his head back against the headrest. “Mami’s whole side is Catholic, but, I dunno. God never did anything for Dad.” The car went quiet, the radio shifting from ads to some country song. Marco closed his eyes and sighed.

“Well, my family’s the opposite, I guess.” Marco cracked an eye and watched Jean’s profile, smile smoothed out and eyes on the road. “Momma’s too physics to really go for unexplained shit, but Daddy’s Jewish, and I like latkes.” He shrugged. “Still figuring all that out, I guess.”

Marco hummed and sat back. “That’s fair.” He sighed, shoulders falling as he slid down in the seat, closing his eyes again.

He jerked awake a few minutes later when the car stopped. “Hey, sunshine. We’re here.”

“Huh?” Marco blinked and rubbed his eyes. They were parked at the curb in front of the path to his dorm’s door. It wasn’t the closest door to Marco’s room, but he wasn’t gonna complain. “Oh. Sorry ‘bout fallin’ asleep.”

Jean shrugged. “You deserve it, man. G’on and get more of it.” Marco stretched and remembered his sprained knee, gasping and curling in. “Shit.” Jean’s fingers brushed his elbow. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Marco loosened his grip on the crutches in his lap, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Just forgot.” Jean huffed, but Marco opened the door and lifted himself out, hopping around to lean on the roof of the car and smile at Jean. “Thanks for the ride, really.”

“No problem.” Jean twisted around to hand out Marco’s duffel. “You need any more help?”

“Nah, I should be good. Thanks again.” Marco held his bag with his right hand on the crutch (wearing it just made it bang on his knee, he’d already learned) and got his crutches ready, nudging the car door closed with one before he started the slow trek up the sidewalk. Jean waited at the curb until he carded into the building.

* * *

Marco still has no idea how he breezed through that physics test. His pain meds, his ten hours of dead-to-the-world sleep, his week of studying, and the thrill that crept up his spine when he hobbled into the lecture hall and found Jean handing out tests with his mom and the other lab instructor, mixed together to create the easiest testing period of his collegiate life. He even finished a few minutes early and got to add his test to the small pile forming on the podium, the click of his crutches turning enough heads to make his gut churn.

Jean’s mom was waiting at the podium with her son’s smile. “Hey there,” she whispered, taking the test. “ID?”

“Oh, yes ma’am.” He patted his back pocket for his wallet - the other one - he froze. “Mierda.”

Dr. Rhodes tilted her head. “Sorry?”

“I swore I put my wallet in-” His backpack, which he’d left on his desk chair after a terrible first few steps down the hall. “Uh.”

Dr. Rhodes sighed. “You know I can’t take this until-”

“It’s okay!” Jean jumped in - he’d been answering a question across the room, when did he get here? He smiled at his mother. “He’s one of mine, I’ll cover him.”

Dr. Rhodes’s eyebrows drew together, then rose, a quick smile flashing. “Ah. All right, Marco, you’re fine, but don’t forget it next time, yeah?” He ducked his head in a nod, glancing at a red-faced Jean before turning and making his way out of the lecture hall.

Well, he was good and stuck now. He had no more classes on Thursdays, and although Petra had scheduled him an appointment with health services during normal practice time, that was three hours from now. All he had to do with his life until then was RICE his knee until it turned into porridge and watch the world go by.

He texted Connie about his predicament, but his roommate had class until two, Marco knew. While he waited, he found a less-popular tree standing alone (too far away from anything else to swing a hammock) and sat in its roots, lifting his knee onto a bump up on one. It was one of the last days of good weather before winter and snow descended on the Appalachians, and the entire campus was out on every patch of grass, hackeysacing and Frisbee-ing their hearts out. The sun was high and bright, glinting off of multicolored sunglass frames and dimming the green and brick of campus. Marco laced his fingers over his stomach and watched it all, light breeze ruffling his hair and sun dappling through the ash leaves above him.   

The pentagon of a distant Frisbee ring hypnotized Marco into a doze despite the unyielding root whorls digging into his ass. The pain meds threw a blanket over his wrenched knee’s nerves, so he could almost relax and forget about it.

“Marco? Hey, Marco?”

He groaned. He didn’t even have his headphones around to pretend like he couldn’t hear. He rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand and opened them to find that sorority girl from a few weeks ago, crouched in front of him. “Oh. Hello.”

She beamed. “Hey! Were you asleep?”

“Almost.” He stretched, his knee twanged. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much.” She sat down on a root at his feet, sneaking glances at his knee brace and his crutches. “What happened?”

“Wrong turn at practice. It happens.” He sighed. “Makes getting around a lot harder. though.”

She hummed, picking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “Do you, like, need any help with that?” She smiled at him through the fall of her hair. “I still feel kinda bad about the whole, y’know, pond thing.”

“The idea of a pack mule is tempting.” She laughed, hair falling in her face (it was loose from its pigtails today). “But I should probably learn to live on my own. Got a few more weeks of this.” She winced.

“That sucks.” Marco nodded and bent down to adjust his brace – damn thing collected sweat like a rain barrel. His stomach growled loud enough to make, uh, Mary laugh. “Always hungry, huh?”

“Well, I accidentally left my wallet in my dorm this morning, so I had to skip lunch.” He redid the top velcro strap on the brace and sat back. “It happens.”

She laughed again. “Is that just your life philosophy? ‘It happens’?” He shrugged, but she didn’t give him a moment to respond before she bounced to her feet. “I can get you Chik-Fil-A! What’d you like?”

“Uh, actually, I’m not huge on Chik-Fil-A. Or meat in general.” Her eyebrows furrowed, then cleared.

“Oh, veggie, huh? I used to do that, but it’s just so hard to keep it up on a campus.” She jumped up on a knob of a root. “Free pepperoni pizza, y’know?”

Marco smiled. “I wasn’t vegetarian until after my freshman year for exactly that reason, but I’d heard too many horror stories about us big guys getting fat when we graduate to keep eating like I have to.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulders and smiled, face flushed. “So, like, what can I get you, then? It’d be hard to smuggle out a salad in my backpack, but I could try, if you want.”

Marco laughed, chin to his chest. “No, that’s all right, I don’t want you to smell like Thousand Island for a week.” He dug his fingers into his yowling stomach. “But some fries would be nice.”

“Gotcha. Buttload of fries, comin’ up.” She gave one last hair flip before bounding off to the cafeteria, leaving Marco with a twisting stomach and a nagging itch in the back of his head. Probably just an ant.

* * *

Marco shouldn’t have checked his grades Thursday night. Of course, looking wouldn’t change the results, but he could’ve put off the sinking dread clotting up his stomach until his ecology lecture on Monday when the paper tests were handed back. But, no, he liked to imagine he was a responsible student, so when he finally got back into his dorm at dark (Connie’s phone had died playing Candy Crush in statistics and he hadn’t seen Marco’s cries for help until he got home to his charger), he responded to the PSA email from his professor and checked. Fifty-eight out of a hundred.

He refreshed the page a few times as if that would change it, then slammed his laptop shut and sprawled back in his chair, dragging his hands through his hair. There were a lot of implications that this had for his life, but this was just too much to handle in a week like this. Too much.

He stared at his bed, lofted over his head. Getting up there last night had been a drawn-out nightmare, one pain meds couldn’t muffle. He took in a long, shaky breath.

“Hey, uh, Marco?” He turned to Connie, who was curled up in his desk chair, fingers running along his wave. “So, I should’ve suggested this last night, but, uh, sorry. Do you wanna switch beds?” Marco blinked, but Connie pressed on before he could open his mouth. “I mean, I know I’m short and all, but I can climb, and we could call in housing to move yours down but then you’d have to move your desk and that’s a lot of hassle and we could just trade sheets, I don’t mind-”

Marco laughed, rubbing down one eyebrow with the heel of his hand. Connie’s rant sputtered out. Marco hiccupped – forced himself to stop before he descended into hysterics. “Yeah. That’s really great of you, man, I appreciate it.” Connie grinned and hopped off his chair, chattering about how he hadn’t done any ‘weird shit’ on his mattress while he stripped his bed down and finished Marco’s when he couldn’t reach the far corners. Marco sat at his desk, leg propped up on an uncluttered corner, and laughed at all the right points as Connie told stories of the weird shit he’d caught his three brothers doing back in Charlotte, each laugh tugging the tight knot in his chest a little looser.

* * *

Marco didn’t go to office hours on Friday morning with the intent to dump all of his personal problems on Jean’s head. He just wanted an escape from this hell of a week before he started sucking his thumb again from the stress. But when he hobbled in and Jean glared at him with tired orange eyes, scolding him for unnecessary exertion, it all bubbled out in a champagne mess on the conference table. His failed test, his probably failed class because of it, his repeated courses over the years, his immobility, his graduation worries, his family – they all fizzed out of him. Jean sat next to him and listened, chin on his arms and purple circles under his bright eyes.

It took Marco a good hour to find the cork again and shove it back in, but not before he’d reached the topic of his parents and Catholicism and alcoholism. Which was way past when he should’ve drawn the line. He swallowed on his dry throat.

“So, well. That’s that. Sorry, that was way too much.”

Jean shook his head, a roll of his chin on his forearm. “Kid, don’t add me to your list of worries. Jesus.”

Marco’s mouth twitched. “Thanks.” He sighed, staring into the grain of the table. “I just…” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Marco sank into his head, breathing and wiggling his toes just to pull on the sprained muscles, like a loose tooth. “You know.” Marco peered around one palm at Jean, who flicked his eyes up to meet Marco’s. “You don’t have to bottle all this shit up like this.” He licked his lips, staring back at the table. “You’re – a pretty neat guy. And you deserve someone to take care of you, like you do for everybody else.” He shrugged, sweatshirt hood flopping up to cover the back of his skull and his pink ears.

Marco’s heartbeat fluttered against his temples. “Yeah?”

Jean nodded, face hidden against his sleeves and voice muffled when he continued, “So, like, if you ever need someone to unload on. At any point. I’m your guy.”

Marco smiled, rubbing at his nose. “That’s - nice of you, Jean.”

“Yeah, don’t spread it around. I’ve got a hardass image to maintain.” Marco laughed, and Jean raised his head to smile back. They caught each other’s eyes and held them long enough for Jean’s cheeks to go pink before he cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, shuffling his hands through hair. “So, uh, you said you’re having problems with Eco?”

Marco groaned and banged his forehead on the table. Jean laughed and pushed at his shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “Dude, I’ll help you if you need it, but there’s a reason I’m not in natural sciences, yeah?”

Marco shrugged into the table, then lifted his chin to stare out the blank window across from him. “I’ve been thinkin’ about dropping the class, anyway.”

“But Eco’s, like, the backbone of your major?” Marco nodded, still staring. Jean let out a long _aah_ and crossed his arms. “Y’know, I’ve always had a problem picturin’ ya diggin’ up soil samples and shit. Just didn’t seem right.” Marco hummed and watched a leaf flutter by the window to keep his eyes away from Jean’s. “What do you like to do, big guy?”

“I like helping people.”

“No, that’s what you _do_. What do you _like_ to do?”

Marco’s lips parted, eyes flitting over to Jean’s steady orange. “There’s a difference?”

Jean rolled his eyes, “Marco, stop actin’ so stupid, it don’t look good on you.” Marco wrinkled his nose at the far window. “Why’d you pick environmental science, anyway?”

Marco shrugged. “I wanna save the whales.”

Jean frowned, thick eyebrows drawing together. “You have a saving people thing, huh.” Marco hummed, shrugged again. Jean sighed and snagged his fingers in the arm of his sweatshirt. “You’ve got time to figure this shit out, y’know. Drop date’s not until October.”

Drop date - the last date to drop a class without penalty. “Oh, yeah, that. I guess you’re right.”

“And it’s bullshit to try to have your life plotted out in college, anyway. I mean, yeah, I sort of know what I want to do, but it’s not like I’m not okay with things changin’ if they want to later.” He cleaned out under the nails of one hand with the middle finger of the other, hair falling over his face so Marco could see his brown roots. “No one’s got it figured out when they’re twenty, and if they think they do they’ll learn real fast how wrong they are.”

Marco smiled, tongue between his teeth. “And you’re, what, twenty-one?”

Jean grinned at him through his overgrown bangs. “I’ve been around a lot of grad students in my day.” He flicked some dirt across the table. “Now _there’s_ a group of kids that don’t have their shit together.” Marco snorted, biting on a knuckle and raising his eyebrows. Jean kicked him under the table; Marco growled in pain, curling tight – the table sliced into his stomach. Jean’s face fell. “Oh, shit, man, sorry, I forgot-”

Marco shook his head. “S’fine.” He knocked his head against the chair’s headrest as the world spun behind his closed eyes. Jean fell silent as Marco pulled his scattered self back into his skin for the fifth time that morning.

“You should really go rest somewhere.” Marco slit open an eye. Jean was frowning at his hands. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Imagine _being_ like this.” He rolled his thumbs in circles down his left thigh. “Your concern is appreciated.”

Jean smiled, soft, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Well, whatever you decide to do with your life, big guy, I hope you don’t drop _my_ class.” He (failed to) wink at Marco. “You did pretty hot on your test.”

“Really?” Marco smiled, a slow spread as warmth flooded down from his heart.

“Yep.” Jean rubbed the side of his nose. “Made Momma grade it, of course. Y’know.”

Marco grinned. “Cute.”

Jean made a face at him, ears stained red. “Get outta my office, jackass.”

“Not your office.” But Marco pushed away from the table and swung to his feet. “But I should probably head out, anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, same, totally.” Jean nudged his crutches closer from their lean against the table as he stood. Marco slotted them under his arms and smiled.

“Thanks.” Jean flipped his hair out of his eyes and smiled, an orange glow.

“Any time, big guy.”

* * *

It was Saturday afternoon of the seventh week of the semester, and Marco was stuck on the sidelines watching his team lose without him.

The coaches let him put on his jersey, but he was stuck in his sweats and his knee brace, crutches rubbing a rash into his underarms and into his temper. It was a good thing no one had talked to him since halftime, since he might’ve bitten their head off and fed it to Wofford’s defensive line. Which was a good summation of the game, anyway.

Pacing on the sidelines made the PTs glare at him, so he stumped over to a bench and slammed his crutches down, falling down after them. Moments later, Eren mirrored him, his growl carrying over the thunder of the stadium.

“Fuckin’ hate this shit.” He backslapped Marco’s arm. “You’re the only number on this team that can keep up with me, and now you’re fuckin’ benched.” His hands were shaking, the playbook strapped to his arm rattling. Marco snatched it closed, grip hard on Eren’s forearm.

“I’m gonna need you to chill out, kid.” Eren glared at him, but Marco was not in this mood for this. He glared right back. “If you wanted a cast who could keep pace, you should’ve gone to a bigger school.”

“Not an option.” Eren wrenched his arm out of Marco’s grip and bent down to hook his helmet’s facemask with two fingers. “You better fix that damn knee fast, ‘cause I’ve got plans and I can’t do shit without you.” He shoved himself to his feet and stalked over to the quarterback warmup net, trailing smoke and pushed-aside pads.  

“Man, what crawled up _his_ ass?” Marco glanced over at Reiner, who had his cleat propped up on the back of the bench and was chugging down a Gatorade water bottle. Marco narrowed his eyes and looked back at the field. Reiner coughed. “Look, I never got a chance to apologize for all… that. I’m real sorry, man.”

“Hm.”

“Look, it ain’t my fault! Bertl-”

“How about this, huh?” Marco turned and draped one elbow over the bench, jaw set as he glared up at Reiner, who was red and panting from the game. “I don’t care what you and Bertl have going on behind that closed door. I really, really don’t care. But the _second_ that shit got on the field and messed up our game, that’s when somebody got hurt. You’re gonna lose this game, then y’all’re gonna go home and talk your shit out. And if you don’t, you’ll find out just how good I’m getting with these crutches. All right?”

Reiner stared at him with wide eyes, water bottle hanging loose in his fingers. “Shit, man, yeah, okay, don’t eat me.” He laughed nervously; Marco frowned harder. “I’ll talk to him, I promise.” Marco jerked his chin up, jaw aching from his clenched teeth. A long whistle blew on the field and made them both whip around - touchdown, Wofford. Reiner groaned and swung his leg off the bench, dropping the water bottle on the folding table behind him and jogging over to where the offensive line was waiting for the impending field switch. Marco dug his bitten fingernails into his biceps and glared at the world.


	5. Dates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: If y'all thought I was mean to Marco before, you've got another think coming. A shorter chapter, but after this I should be back to two weeks of time in a chapter instead of one. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [writing playlist/hot Marco cover art](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/post/108600032386)}

It was Sunday afternoon of the eighth week of the fall semester, and Marco was helping Mikasa make dinner for the four of them. Eren and Armin were watching game tapes and talking on the other side of the open kitchen-den combination that took up the back half of the house, in close enough range to hear voices but not discern words unless you tried. Mikasa was easily the most competent of the three in the kitchen, which meant Marco could trust her with an open flame to make the sauce for the tortellini. She was quiet, too, which he appreciated even more as every other person who’d worked into his life this year turned the volume to eleven.

He was in his kitchen headspace when she broke their easy silence with a cough. He tilted his head at her from where he was dicing an onion. She stared into the saucepan, spoon spinning idly in the sauce.

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” She looked over her shoulder to where her boys were bickering. “How do you think Eren is doing?”

Marco blinked. “Eren? He’s fine. Oh, he’s a little frustrated that the team is holding him back, but that’ll get better with time.” Marco’s brow furrowed. “Is it really Eren you should be worried about, though?”

Her spoon stopped, and she looked up at him. “What?”

Marco licked his lips and bent in closer, lowering his tone to a drone. “You know Armin has a thing for Eren the size of the moon, right?” Her lips parted, eyes widening a hair.

“Oh, God.” She pressed her free hand to her face. “Of _course_.” She sighed, half-gaze on the counter. “Something’s been off in the house for a while, but I didn’t even think…” She dropped her hand, hair sliding into its old place. “Oh, boys.”

Marco smiled, soft but humorless. “Sometimes it takes an outsider, huh?” She nodded, stirring the sauce again. He finished dicing the onion and scraped it off the cutting board into her saucepan. Marco watched Mikasa’s face as she played out the scenarios in her head like he’d done before. Talk to Armin first, crush his hopes and dreams. Talk to Eren, sour the house atmosphere into fumbling lemon juice and desecrate his trust. Talk to both together and force them to confront an insufficient inequality. Talk to no one…

“There’s nothing we can really do,” Marco said, resting a hand on her shoulder. She tilted her head back, nodding.

“Thank you. For the warning.” Marco took his hand away, and she wiped her eyes on her other shoulder. “It’s the onions,” she whispered. Marco nodded and doled out the tortellini.

* * *

Monday morning, Marco took a break from his crutches and from being indoors on a nice day on a bench and passed the time between classes texting his brother.

From: Felipe  
So I faked sick during the homecoming dance  
Mon, Oct 6, 11:28 am

From: Marco  
That’s low even para ti kid. How’d the twins take it?  
Mon, Oct 6, 11:52 am

From: Felipe  
There was crying involved. Soy un hijo de puta.  
Mon, Oct 6, 11:55 am

From: Marco  
That’s what you get for tangling with twins. How’re they taking it now?  
Mon, Oct 6, 11:56 am

From: Felipe  
They’re both ignoring the shit out of me  
Mon, Oct 6, 11:58 am

“Hey.” Marco looked up to find Reiner standing in front of him, shifting on his feet. “Can I talk to you?”

Marco frowned. “I might listen.” Reiner plopped down next to Marco’s crutches on the bench, sprawling back and scratching at his crew cut. Marco scowled at his phone.

From: Felipe  
No me gusta this girls mad at me thing. Make it stop  
Mon, Oct 6, 11:59 pm

From: Marco  
Being gay solves of those problems hermanito  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:01 pm

“Bertl got a girlfriend.” Marco looked up at Reiner, who was staring straight ahead at a bush across the walkway. “And I don’t like it.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “What, is she a bitch?”

Reiner shook his head. “Nah, but man, this’d be a lot easier if I didn’t like her. Like, a lot.” He stared down at the interlocking bricks between his feet. “She’s really cool, and Bertl’s been crushin’ on her somethin’ fierce since forever and a day. She ain’t the problem.” He took in a long breath, let it out in a huff. “I am.” Marco crossed his arms and sat back. Reiner rubbed his chin. “You’re gay, aren’t ya, Marco?” Marco clenched his fingers tight around his bicep and his phone and tilted his chin up. Reiner glanced at him and shrugged. “You pick up on things, being ‘round a guy for so long.”

Marco released his phone before he broke it. “Then you know I’d figured out you’n Bertl had a big gay crush on each other two years ago, right?”

Reiner choked, eyes bugging out, before clapping a hand over his mouth. He whispered between his fingers, “ _That_ long?”

Marco watched Reiner’s face shift and softened a little. “Y’all’re some thick-headed bricks, y’know?”

“Yeah.” Reiner hung his head. “I guess I only realized when we moved in together. But I didn’t want to make it weird, y’know? I mean, you’ve been on our team this whole time and never made anything weird, _you_ know what I mean. So I left it. And it was fine, I could do it.”

Marco slid down and knocked his head back against the back of the bench, smiling. “I’ve spent way too long around football types to find them attractive, man, _that’s_ why I never made it weird.” Reiner huffed, not quite a laugh. Marco tilted his head. “But the girlfriend?”

Reiner nodded. “Annie’s great, she really is, and they sort of work, and this would be _so_ much easier if I could hate her. I really, really, wanted to hate her.” He lifted his head, heavy jaw set. “M’sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”

Marco shrugged, loosening some of the tension in his shoulders in the process. “Mistakes happen.”

Reiner grunted, nose wrinkling. “Bertl and I haven’t been this off since – ever, man. It sucks.”

Marco hummed. “Have you tried talking to him?”

Reiner shrugged. “Never comes out right.” He pressed his thumb into the grooves of his other palm. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Marco’s phone buzzed. He gave Reiner a second to think while he answered his brother.

From: Felipe  
Think I could be gay until I go to college?  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:09 pm

From: Marco  
Why not, everyone else is doing it  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:10 pm

From: Marco  
Ten cuidado tho, once you go gay there’s no other way  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:10 pm

Marco smiled and turned his phone screen off. “I’m gonna tell you what I told my brother a few weeks ago when he asked the wrong twin to the dance.” Reiner broke into a grin, and Marco’s smile widened. “This is just a hole you’re gonna have to live in, kid.”

Reiner ducked his head, shoulders shaking from his laugh. “He asked the _wrong twin_?”

“Actually, the wrong twin asked him.” Reiner rubbed his temple, still laughing. Marco waved his phone. “He’s dealing with the fallout now.”

“Poor kid.” Reiner sat back, arms along the back of the bench. “I guess it could be worse, then. Bertl could have a tw-” He blinked, face going red. Marco whacked his leg with a crutch.

“Stop that.” Marco’s phone buzzed again.

From: Felipe  
Nah I like girls too much. They’re soft  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:13 pm

From: Marco  
And you like that?  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:15 pm

From: Felipe  
Y a ti no?  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:16 pm

Reiner stood, stretching. “Thanks for listening, Marco. You always help me get my head straight.” Pause. “In a manner of speaking.” Marco smiled up at him, but didn’t watch him walk away as he focused on his phone.

From: Marco  
Ew, no  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:17 pm

From: Felipe  
Sometimes I dunno how we’re related  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:18 pm

From: Marco  
Stunning good looks and charm  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:19 pm

From: Felipe  
I know I have them pero what about you  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:20 pm

From: Marco  
Puto. Go back to class  
Mon, Oct 6, 12:20 pm

Marco turned his phone screen off and slid it in his sweatshirt pocket, giving his crutches a long look before standing in stages and tucking them under to head off to class.

* * *

Ever since Sasha and Connie had disappeared to the basement to avoid studying, they were attached at the hip, instant best friends in the style usually reserved for the playground. Months of exposure to Sasha had dulled Marco’s senses to her presence, so she could almost be enjoyable. Which was good, since now he saw her whenever he saw Connie.

“How’s the knee holding up, frecklebutt?” she asked, jumping up on Connie’s-now-his bed and nudging his shoulder with her foot. He turned in his desk chair, lifting his leg around in thumps.

“It hurts, but I hate taking the meds.” He spun his pill bottle across his desk. “They make me all loopy.”

She giggled. “I bet you’re a riot loopy.”

“No!” Connie spun from where he was digging at his desk, eyes wide. “He breaks things and talks only in Spanish, it’s _awful_.”

Sasha laughed, head thrown back and feet kicking. “Definitely a riot.” She rolled over onto her stomach, feet kicking in the air behind her. “Did your Friday boyfriend give you any hints about the test?”

“Boyfriend? What?” Connie whipped up again from his desk drawer. Sasha winced as Marco threw what was in his hand at her – his pain meds bottle. She ducked, and it smacked the wall behind her.

“Shit, sorry, dude, I didn’t know he didn’t know.” Marco clenched his fingers in the air, baring his teeth for a moment before he dropped his hands, lip curled as he glanced at a still-stunned Connie.

“Surprise. I’m gay.”

Connie sputtered, tossing his hands in the air. “What is _with_ you people and coming out like that?” Marco snorted and Sasha laughed, her eyes crinkling. Connie flapped his hair at her. “What are _you_ , then? Only attracted to cats?”

She grunted, face-down in Marco’s comforter, before she resurfaced with a grin. “Nah, I’m straight as a beanpole. Except for Natalie Portman.” Marco laughed, chin to his chest. Connie sighed.

“Well that’s a relief.” He blinked, then grimaced, jerking back. “Shit, sorry, dude, I didn’t mean it like that – I don’t have a problem with it, really, I just-”

Marco rubbed at his face, holding up his other hand to stop him. “Slow down before you _really_ stick your foot in your mouth.” He smiled behind his hand. “Besides, you got nothin’ to worry about, you’re not my type.” Sasha choked on her laughter, and Connie laughed, too, head to the side and eyes squinted shut. Marco rubbed his nose, checking his tongue between his teeth.

“Well, now that _that’s_ settled.” Sasha kicked her feet together in the air, chin propped on her two hands as she smiled at Marco. “How’s the boyfriend?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he assured Connie. “He’s just our physics TA.”

“Who you totally have the hots for.” Sasha winked at Connie. “And who _totally_ has the hots for him.”

Connie grinned, nose wrinkling. “Scandalous.”

Marco buried his face in his hands. “Not you, too.” The other two laughed at him, the monsters. He continued the drag down to bury his fingers in his hair. “Don’t y’all have some ghosts to hunt tonight?”

Connie shook his head. “Stars aren’t right.” Marco stared at him over his wrist.

“You’re serious.”

Connie held it for five seconds before he cracked into giggles, Sasha soon after. “You’re so gullible, man.” He rolled his shoulder back, stretching with a groan. “Nah, just taking a few days off. Don’t want to lose the fire.”

Marco snorted. “If you say so.” He glanced back at his desk. “Can I finish my bio report now, or are y’all gonna drive me to distraction all night?”

Sasha’s nose wrinkled. “Bank on the distraction.” He sighed and closed his notebook.

* * *

Jean handed back their tests in Wednesday lab. Marco hadn’t wanted to test Jean’s Friday promise of success by checking his grade online, and had prevented himself from acting on his mom’s announcement the night before by leaving his computer untouched all night and day. Jean smiled at him when he handed the stapled papers out, though, face-down like everyone else. Marco flipped it – eighty-nine. He licked his lips, biting the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning. The test average Dr. Rhodes had announced in the email was an eighty-three. Jean slapped his shoulder when he passed again in his alphabetical zigzag, grinning. Marco smiled back, ducking his head.

“Oh, what’d you get?” Sasha asked, propping her chin on his shoulder. He didn’t fold the paper away in time, and she grinned. “Good going, Butt.”

His phone buzzed across the hard desktop, and his jerk banged her jaw. She cursed, making a face as she fell back to her own stool, and he winced. “Oh, shoot, I’m sorry-”

She waved him off, working her jaw a little. “S’fine.” She grabbed his phone, and why did she know his passcode? She winked. “But now I get to see who’s texting you.”

He shrugged, then frowned. He hadn’t texted anyone all day, so who’d be talking to him now?

Sasha shoved his phone in his face with an overzealous frown. “Who the hell is Mina?”

From: Mina C  
So I heard you didn’t have a game this weekend and my fall break plans busted so I was wondering if I could treat you to lunch?  
Wed, Oct 8, 6:47 pm

From: Mina C  
A few months late but still!  
Wed, Oct 8, 6:47 pm

Marco scowled and took his phone back. “She’s – remember back at the beginning of the semester when I got pushed into the pond?” She nodded, too curious to laugh. “Well. It was her fault.”

Sasha raised her eyebrows and drummed her fingers on the desk. “So you gave her your number?”

“No. That came later. She keeps finding me and acting like we’re friends.”

Sasha snorted. “And are you?”

Marco shrugged. “I mean, she’s okay, but she pushed me in the duck pond, so, not really.” She gave him a hard stare and took his phone back to read the text again.

“Well, obviously there’s been some crossed wires here, since she’s asking you on a date now.” She gave him a half-smile, weird on her full moon face. “Gotta admire her gumption.”

“What?” Marco snatched his phone back. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then…” Their previous encounters flipped through his head, and he buried his face in his forearms on the desk. “A la gran puchica.” Sasha patted his back with heavy slaps. “Ya me fregue.”

“What’s he bitching about now?” Marco lifted his head to wrinkle his lip at a freshly-arrived Ymir, who slid into her stool in time for Jean to pass her test over - who was raising one heavy eyebrow at Marco and so missed her hand the first time. She was too busy snorting on her laughter to point it out beyond an eyebrow waggle at Marco, whose ears flamed.

“S’nothin’,” he mumbled, but Sasha nicked his phone from his unsuspecting grasp and tossed it across the triangle to her. He glared, but Ymir caught it without flash and read the waiting text with a squint, then lifted the squint to him.

“I never pegged you as the kind to lead a girl on, Butt.”

He dragged his hands through his hair, pulling out a few. “It’s not _my_ fault they keep liking me!” He tugged on his hair. “Why can’t more ‘em be like y’all?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Sasha crossed her arms and slouched them onto his desk. “But seriously, you need to let her down. But easylike. Avoiding contact is always good.”

“But I’ve been doing that all semester and look where _that_ got me!” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, fingers still in his hair. “Why won’t she just _give up_?”

Ymir shrugged. “Some people need to be beat over the head with the message to get it. It took me _months_ to realize Krista was hitting on me. You should probably talk to her and lay it out on the table.”

Marco made a face, tongue out. At the front of the class, Jean banged his heavy pen against the podium’s extra flap until everyone shut up. “All right! Everyone feelin’ good now?” Some groaned, some laughed. They were used to his jokes by now. He slapped his hands together. “So! Before we get into the lab, who’s got questions about the test?” Three hands shot up before he could finish his sentence, and Jean rolled his eyes before pointing at one. “Chels, you were first up, what you got?”

The girl flipped a few pages into the test to ask about one of the short answers as Jean followed along in a spare test at the podium, nodding as he reached behind him blindly for some chalk, missing a few times before he struck blue gold and launched into an explanation. Marco slid his phone out of his sight and woke up the screen behind the table. Might as well get this over with.

From: Marco <3  
Lunch sounds good, altho I’m paying. We should probably talk anyway  
Wed, Oct 8, 6:55 pm

From: Mina C  
Ok great!! I can pick you up if you want to save your knee??  
Wed, Oct 8, 6:56 pm

From: Marco <3  
That’s sweet of you, thanks, I’m in east  
Wed, Oct 8, 6:58 pm

From: Mina C  
Cool! Pick u up about 12 sat?  
Wed, Oct 8, 6:58 pm

From: Marco <3  
That should be fine  
Wed, Oct 8, 6:59 pm

From: Mina C  
Awesome!! See ya then!!  
Wed, Oct 8, 7:01 pm

Marco dropped his phone in his bag and turned to keep Sasha and Ymir in line as Jean stopped the questions to focus on the lab, sour bile making his forehead ache.

* * *

When Marco hobbled into the Lindsay room Friday morning, he found something new waiting on him – an empty room. He frowned, pulling out his phone to check – he wasn’t any earlier than normal. Jean had never been later than punctual the entire two months he’d known him, and he hadn’t said anything about being gone when he insisted on driving Marco home after Wednesday’s lab again. They’d talked about _pigeons_.

Marco stumbled to his usual chair to sit down and rest his armpits. Well, everyone was allowed a tardy, even the TA. He propped his leg up on another chair and checked his email on his phone – no notice from him that he’d be late or missing. No text, either, enough though they’d yet to break that contact ice anyway Marco frowned and opened Fruit Ninja to wait it out.

He ran out of lives, and Jean still wasn’t there. It was a good half hour into his office hours now. Marco’s nerves were sparking too hot, gut churning as he glanced out the glass-sided wall to the hallway to make sure no one was walking by and seeing him alone. It felt like he’d been stood up at a party or something, but that was ridiculous. It’s not like they arranged this beforehand. It’s not like Jean was obligated to entertain him every week. He tossed his phone on the table and sighed, running his hands through his hair, staring at his brace. Why had he even bothered?

He glared at inanimate objects for a few more minutes before he gave it up. Whatever had happened in Jean’s life, he wasn’t coming here today. He’d squeeze it out of him next time they saw each other, if Marco wasn’t still pissed for _no reason_. Or if Jean wasn’t dead or injured.

He got to his aided feet and stumped out of the Lindsay room to go harass the morning cafeteria ladies for some breakfast.

* * *

It was midafternoon on the Saturday of the eighth week of the fall semester, and Mina had successfully distracted Marco from the point of the day with an offhand remark about how she didn’t understand football. Friend or no friend, crush or no crush, there was no way Marco could let an uneducated soul slip through his fingers.

There was an NC State game on the TV closest to them at the local bar/diner where they’d ended up at, since Mina had never had their veggie wrap and Marco wanted as many fries as his body could handle. And a drink, but he could hold off on that for now. To her credit, Mina did pay attention to his fry-stuffed lectures about offsides and pass interference and safeties. He tried to lay it out in layman’s terms, but he knew how he got into technicalities when he got sucked into his sport. She laughed too much and stole his fries, but she was quick to pick up the rules and didn’t make him spell it out twice before she was wincing and cheering with the rest of the bar.

At halftime, they’d worked through two and a half baskets of fries (mostly him) and he was actually having a nice time around the gross lump in his stomach. Mina slurped on her Coke and smiled at him, all soft eyes and lip gloss and aw _hell_ no. He leant forward on his elbows, staring her down. “Look. Mina.”

She pushed aside her Coke to mirror him. “Yeah?”

He swallowed and backed away a little, swirling a fry around in a puddle of ketchup. “You’re - a nice girl, and it’s been fun hanging out with you.” Mierda, this was harder than he’d told Feli it was. She cocked her head at him, eyebrows drawing together over her smile. What kind of asshole was he to take that smile away from her? “So, please, don’t…” He stuck the ketchup-soaked fry in his mouth, licked his salt-dusted lips.

“Don’t what?” His stomach sunk with her dropped tone. He swallowed.

His phone vibrated across the table, and he sprang for the salvation – checked the caller ID – wait, his dad? He frowned at the screen and whispered a ‘sorry’ at Mina as he answered, closing off his other ear with his hand. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“ _Hey Squeakers. Have you been getting my texts?_ ”

“Uh, no? I’ve been busy.” Marco frowned at the fries in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

His dad sighed on the other end. “ _Your grandmother’s in the hospital_.”

Marco’s bitten nails dug into his ear as the lump that had been festering in his stomach all day exploded. “ _What?_ What happened?”

“ _Her heart’s actin’ up again. You know it’s never been kind to her. She almost fainted last night in dinner service, although she refused to go to the hospital until today._ ” His dad sighed again. “ _Your mother’s in the hospital with her now. I haven’t heard anything from her yet about what they’re saying, but it probably won’t be good._ ” Marco swallowed, head swimming. “ _I just wanted to give you a heads-up, in case, y’know._ ”

“Yeah.” Marco pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. “Thanks, Dad. Sorry I can’t be there.”

“ _Nothing you can do about that, now._ ” Marco breathed in, breathed out. “ _I’ll keep you in the loop, all right?_ ”

“Yeah, all right.” Marco huffed. “How’s everyone else doing?”

“ _The sisters are all at the hospital. Feli and Christy are here at the restaurant. Wanna talk to them?_ ”

“No. No, I’ll be fine.” The phone screen was getting sweaty against his face. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“ _Of course. Love you_.”

“‘Ove you, too.” His dad hung up, and Marco raised his head to Mina’s wide eyes. “Sorry about that. Apparently my Abuelita’s in the hospital.” Mina pressed a hand to her mouth. “I mean, she’s been before, she’s old, but…” He shrugged.

“Oh, honey.” She laid a hand over his on the table, and he didn’t have the sense to pull away. “Want me to take you home?”

He nodded, and she craned her head to look for the waiter and flag him down. He didn’t even notice her paying as he flipped through the more descriptive text history from his dad throughout the day, and took his crutches when Mina held them out to him as he slid out of the booth, their hands brushing. Ah, hell.


	6. Deaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: This chapter is not named lightly, but it's only talk about death and not featuring any actual death scenes. A lot of reaction to death scenes, though. Also, Jean sings along to Martina McBride in the car. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [8tracks playlist](http://8tracks.com/carriecmoney/left-hand-man)}

It was Tuesday afternoon of the ninth week of the fall semester, and it hadn’t been a good long weekend. The text updates from his dad about Abuelita were only terrible, and every buzz of his phone made his stomach sink a little lower. By sunset Sunday, he knew he wasn’t going to see her again. He longed to go for a run, but he was stuck with his knee brace in bed, so all he had to distract himself with was homework and cat videos. He didn’t even have Connie, since it was only a two-hour drive back to Charlotte. Campus was deserted and almost echoed in its silence when Mikasa picked him up Sunday for a dinner he’d tried to flake out of, but at least he got to use a real kitchen again. The two of them spent it trading pointed looks with each other as Armin fussed over Eren and Eren didn’t even bat an eye at how much Armin was touching him.

His mother called from the hospital on Monday and put him on speaker with her sisters and their mother. Abuelita’s always hoarse smoker’s voice cracked on her quiet bawdy jokes that her daughters still found reason to be offended by. Marco laughed at all of them as he laid on his bed in the silence of an empty dorm, eyes closed as he focused on her rasps until he heart was going to pop from the stranglehold his ribs had around it. They all talked for a good Spanish hour, reminiscing about Marco’s childhood in Miami, Abuelita’s in Iztapa, and her brood of daughters caught in between. Her voice faded as they talked into a gravelly whisper Marco could barely catch, his throat held tight in the same vise as his heart.

He apologized at least a dozen times for not being there. As the oldest of the grandchildren, he should’ve made an effort, at least looked at plane ticket prices. She dismissed it each time, and with her last whispered _de nada_ , told him to wear red on the day of her funeral. The call didn’t last long after that, Marco too choked up to do much but listen while the hospital staff tapped their feet outside her door and his mother made everyone say goodbye with a chorus of soggy te quieros. Still, he held the dial tone to his ear as long as it rang after they hung up, arm over his eyes and breathing in, breathing out. The call clicked to its end.

That was Monday, though. This was Tuesday, and it hit him like a bag of boulders dropped on his head. The hallway outside his closed-but-thin door was filling up with noise again as people came back to campus. The semester was officially halfway over now. Life rolls on.

Connie came back midafternoon, no less boisterous from a weekend spent with his three brothers, but instead with the ‘fire’ for his ghost hunting rekindled. Apparently he came from a line of the superstitious who took the haunted nature of these here hills to their advantage, so Connie was far from alone in his fanaticism. Somehow that didn’t comfort Marco a whole lot, but it was fun hearing stores about being the younger sibling instead of his own perpetual-older-brother state. Connie talked his ears off from the moment he banged in the door Tuesday afternoon, and after two days of nothing but himself, it was both relieving and overwhelming to have another voice in his head. Marco kept quiet, humming and nodding along from his safe place on his bed while Connie jumped around, chattering and digging his gear out for another ghost hunt. Marco watched him, a faint smile tugging at his face. Connie would’ve fit right in on his home street.

Connie fell silent for a minute while he checked his camera’s filters. Marco stared at the ceiling, biting his cheek.

“Hey.” Connie looked up. Marco tried to find an owl in their spackled ceiling. “I know you believe in ghosts and all.” _Nope, that was a Pikachu_. “But what do you think the afterlife is? I mean, if there is one.” _That was a dragon’s tail_.

Connie hummed, leaning against the support of Marco’s-now-his bed. “Honestly, I don’t really know.” He dropped his camera to the care of its strap, tangling three limbs in the slats of the support. “We can talk and theorize and speculate all we want, but when it all comes down to it, there’s no way to be sure until we pass on ourselves.” He nudged his hanging camera with his knee. “Or if you ask somebody who’s already done that.”

Marco smiled, lopsided. “Awful skeptical for someone who believes in ghosts.”

Connie stuck his tongue out. “I believe there _is_ one, jackass, I just don’t know what shape it takes. There’s a lot of theories about that one.” He wove his fingers together and pushed them out, palm-first. “Besides, it’s not fun if there isn’t a little mystery.” Connie tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at Marco. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Well, I can’t walk, so there’s that.” Connie’s nose wrinkled as he waited. Marco sighed. “And, well, my Abuelita’s dying, so. There’s that, too.”

“Shit, dude, I’m sorry.” Connie bit his bottom lip, forehead wrinkling with his frown. “You okay?”

Marco shrugged, lacing his fingers over his stomach and trying to find the owl again. “I’ll be fine.” Connie frowned.

“Are you close to her?”

Marco paused a moment ( _a clock at ten past four_ ) before nodding. “I’m the oldest grandkid, the only one until my brother was born, so she’d latched on to me.” He swallowed, cleared his throat. “I’m the only one who remembers Abuelito out of the dozen of us, so.” Marco sat up and scooted back to prop his pillow on the high frame of his dorm bed, still not looking at Connie. “The doctors give her a few more days.”

“ _Shit_ , man.” Connie fidgeted in the corner of Marco’s sight. “Is there… anything you want me to do?”

Marco shook his head. “Fly me down to Miami? And do my homework and PT for me?”

Connie laughed, quiet and head knocked to one side. “Not sure if my reach spreads that far.” He paused, then took off his camera and set it up on his bed. “How about I get us a pizza?”

Marco smiled. “You don’t have to, I don’t mind if you go do… whatever it is you do in the basement.”

Connie flapped his hand as he crossed to his desk, opening his laptop. “She’s been there for almost sixty years now, I think she’ll stick around a few more days.” He plopped in his chair, typing in his password. “Veggie, right? No mushrooms?”

Marco snorted. “ _Yes_ mushrooms.”

“I’m paying, and mushrooms are gross, so, no mushrooms. Awesome.” Marco chuckled, chin to his chest, and twisted around in bed to argue in favor of mushrooms until he forgot about the ghost girl and the owl.

* * *

The idea that Jean had flaked on him Friday because he’d been hurt or worse had crossed Marco’s mind. It was his week for that. Besides, Jean didn’t seem like the type to skip without explanation. When Marco wasn’t worrying over his Abuelita, he was worrying over Jean, more rubber bands snapped to the ball bouncing around in his gut.

Marco watched Dr. Rhodes carefully in Wednesday lecture. She didn’t seem to be worried about anything other than catching up to her syllabus, and he hoped that if anything happened to her only son she’d be a little more torn up about it. It didn’t help settle his nerves, though. Petra could tell something was off through his practice-long PT session (she was using the opportunity to straighten out all of the little problems he’d acquired from a decade playing this sport beyond his knee), but she didn’t say anything. She just gave him concerned looked that he ignored and let him go twenty minutes early so he could get to lab on time.

He got there a few minutes early after all. When he stepped out of the tiny-yet-terrifying service elevator and into the hallway, Jean was sitting against the wall by the door, head resting on the whitewashed cinderblocks and eyes closed, hair in his face. His eyes opened at the click-clack of Marco’s crutches as they came closer. He rolled his head to smile at him, weak as a winter sun. “Hey, big guy.”

Marco licked his lips. “Hey.” He shrugged off his backpack and dropped it to the floor, lowering himself to the tiles with his crutches as support, Jean’s hand bracing his bare calf. He had tough callouses on the tips of his fingers. When Marco was seated, bad leg stretched out and good leg bent, he propped his crutches on the wall next to his backpack and turned to Jean. “So.”

“M’sorry.” Jean drew his knees to his chest and propped his chin on them, staring at the abstract tile patterns. “Something – came up.”

“Well I figured that.” Marco craned his head to see Jean’s vacant eyes – bright orange. “You wanna tell me about it?”

“Yeah, I do.” He paused, eyes flicking down the darker tan stripes in the hallway floor. Voices echoed from the stairwell down the hall. He sighed. “But not right now?”

Marco nodded. “All right.”

Jean turned his cheek on his knee to smile at Marco, orange eyes soft. “I promise I wouldn’t’ve bailed on purpose.”

Marco smiled back, tone rocky over his “I know”. The owners of the voices came around the bend as Jean scrambled to his feet, helping Marco haul himself up before going to the lab door to antagonize the previous lab’s instructor to wrap it up already, gosh.

The lab passed like normal, Marco spending more time failing to keep Sasha and Ymir on track than doing the lab itself so they were the last ones done again, but Marco watched Jean. Well, that wasn’t new either, but usually Marco’s hidden looks found an open face focused on whomever needed help at the moment under hair that changed every time Marco glanced away over steady brown eyes. Today was an orange day, though, and Jean’s smile came slower, his tone subdued when he addressed the class with the answer to a popular question. It wasn’t a big difference – he still cursed up Hurricane Hugo and made bad jokes – but Marco noticed.

When Sasha and Ymir let him finish at last, Jean offered him another ride. The two stooges made kissy faces behind Jean’s back, but Marco held off rolling his eyes and just nodded at him as he wrestled his backpack on.

Marco smacked Sasha and Ymir ahead with a crutch, and they ran down the hallway, laughing, to the stairwell, while Marco and Jean turned the other way to the service elevator, Jean smiling lopsided.

“You’ve got a lot more patience than I do to put up with that,” Jean said as they crammed in, nudging Marco’s forearm with the back of his hand. Marco smiled back.

“Who said I put up with it?” Jean snorted a laugh and pressed the G button, the elevator creaking back to life. “I’ve snapped at them before, but it doesn’t seem to do anything.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “ _You_ snapped at them. That must’ve been a sight to see.” In this tiny elevator, Marco was close enough to see the reddish skin around Jean’s industrial. Marco gripped his crutches tight to keep from touching.

“How long have you had your ears pierced?”

Jean blinked up at him, surprise smoothing his expression out. “Oh, that?” He reached up and fingered the bar, rotating it in its double cuff. “High school, man. You do some dumb shit.” He laughed, a quiet shake of his shoulders. “When Daddy found out, like, a month later, he flipped his lid an’ emailed me ‘bout a dozen pictures of infected tongue piercin’s every day for a week.” Marco grimaced, and Jean grinned, poking out his unpierced tongue. “It worked.”

Marco blinked, brain blanking. “Bet it’d look good on you, though.”

Jean froze, ears turning all red. The door wobbled open, and he jumped out to hold it as Marco swung out, biting his cheek and cursing up his own hurricane in his head.

They left the building and were halfway to the parking lot when Marco started thinking in English again. He glanced at Jean, whose ears were still red under his half-inch of undyed roots. “So, uh.” Jean glanced at him. Marco licked his bottom lip. “What happened last week?”

Jean sucked in a breath, face crumpling as he stumbled to a halt. Marco jerked to a stop, too, snapping a hand out to stabilize Jean on instinct. Jean shook his head, but didn’t pull away. “No, it’s fine, I’d just almost forgot.” He rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. “My dog died.” His voice cracked like tissue paper, and Marco’s week-long bout of sinking anxiety bubbled. “He was old, but he was a good dog, y’know?” Marco stared, dropping his hand back to grip his crutch handle as his throat closed up. Jean looked up at him and smiled. “It’s all right, I’m not gonna cry on you, I promise.” Marco shook his head, but too little for Jean to notice. Jean shrugged, sharp, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “Just hurts, y’know?” Marco nodded, breathing hard through his nose. Jean flipped his hair to the side and tried to grin. “Anyway, enough of me moping. Let’s get you home, yeah?” Marco nodded again, following alongside Jean to his car that made him smile even now.

The scuffle of dumping himself in the low bucket seat loosened the knot in his throat. When Jean turned on the engine, Marco exhaled and asked, “What was his name?”

A flash of orange. “Rohan.” Jean put his hand on Marco’s shoulder - the seat back - as he twisted to back out of the parking spot. “Daddy brought him back from Germany back in middle school, just a lil’ mutt puppy that was all paws.” Jean grinned as he yanked gears around. “I’d just read _Return of the King_ , and Momma couldn’t shut up ‘bout how this dog was gonna turn into a horse.” Marco smiled, nose wrinkling. Jean winked in the flickering lamplight. “I was kind of a skinny nerd.”

“Was?”

Jean stuck his tongue out as he stopped at the parking lot exit. “You’re hilarious.” Marco watched his ears flare up again. “You think I’m scrawny _now_ , ya should’ve seen me then, I was barely more’n an undercooked twig.” Marco chuckled, head knocked back against the headrest. “You could’ve _benched_ me.”

“Dude, I could bench you _now_.” Marco looked him over. “What’re you, one-fifty?”

Jean bristled, shoulders rising. “Something like that.”

Marco stretched in his seat, crossing his arms behind his head. “I could bench _two_ of you.”

“Har har, yeah, I’m a ratty weed and you’re stacked, whatever.” Marco bit his tongue and rotated his left ankle idly (his knee pain had faded from a shot to a sting, and pulling its muscle was like worrying a loose tooth). “The _point_ is. Rohan grew like fuckin’ kudzu and there’s an awful picture of little me ridin’ him into cardboard battle.”

Marco laughed out loud, eyes closed and shaking. Jean laughed beside him, quiet and broken. Marco rubbed at his damp eyes. “God, I would pay to see that.”

Jean huffed. “If you’re good, maybe I'll let you see it for free.” The song on the dimmed country radio changed, and Jean gasped. Marco raised an eyebrow as Jean cranked the volume back up. “I can’t believe this is on!”

Marco shrugged. “All country is country to me.”

Jean made a face. “Martina is _special_ , jerk, haven’t you learned?” He tapped out the beat on the steering wheel. “ _Lock up your whiskey cabinets, girls, lock up your guns!_ ” Marco’s chin fell to his chest, still laughing. “ _Lock up the beauty shop, no tellin’ if they heard the news!_ ” Marco rubbed his temple, shaking his head.

“Sometimes I forget you’re really from here.”

Jean wrinkled his nose at him through his belting. “Man, you haven’t enjoyed life if ya don’t like Martina.”

Marco barked a laugh. “My adolescence was more Ricky Martin than this.”

Jean stuck out his tongue as he swung around a bend. “Caramel red lips and all, huh?”

“What? No, that’s not-”

“ _I got a Mustang, it’ll do eighty, you don’t have to be my baby!_ ” Marco tossed a hand in the air and just laughed through Jean’s impassioned performance all the way to his door.

* * *

On his way to practice/physical therapy Thursday afternoon, a light drizzle dampening campus and his temper, Marco got a call from his dad. He plopped down on the wet grass by the sidewalk to answer, barely forcing out his “Hey, Dad.”

“ _Hey, Squeaks_.” The rattles of a hospital echoed in the background. “ _I guess you know why I’m calling_.”

“Yeah.” Marco only kept his breathing even through a decade of practice. “Was it… easy?”

“ _She fell asleep on Sofia’s shoulder._ ”

Marco fell back on the grass, staining his jacket. “Just like that?”

His dad sighed. “ _She wasn’t in any more pain than she already was._ ”

Marco pressed his free hand to his face. “Thanks, Dad. How’s Mami doing?”

Another heavy sigh. “ _Holding up, as best as can be expected. Want to talk to her?_ ”

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t, I’m on my way to practice-”

“ _Practice?_ ”

“Well, PT, but during practice time and in the right place-”

“ _Marco._ ”

Marco sighed. “Okay, if she wants to talk.”

“ _Honey? It’s Marco-_ ”

“ _Dame eso!_ ” There was a scuffle for the phone that made Marco sit up and jerk the phone away from his ear. “ _Marco, hijo, estas bien?_ ”

“Si, Mami, estoy bien.” She was sniffling, and Marco shook with the need to hug her. “Perdóname, Mami.”

“ _Hijo, hijo, yo tambien, ay, hijo._ ” Her voice cracked. “ _Te extraño mucho, hijo._ ”

Marco swallowed, hunching around his bendable leg. “Si, Mami, yo tambien, Lo siento mucho que no estoy allí, lo siento-”

She coughed, wet. “ _No, pequeño, quedate donde estas y edúcate. Mami-_ ” She choked up again, and Marco curled into himself. It was raining harder now. “ _Es lo que quiería._ ”

“Mami.”

“ _Hijo, hijo, no es tu culpa. Ella entiende. Entiendia._ ” Another sob, another scuffle and indistinct murmurs.

His dad came back on. “ _Squeaks, it’s all right. She’s in a better place now._ ” Dad didn’t believe in the afterlife, but Mami did. “ _I’ll let you know about everything else, okay?_ ”

“Si, si, yeah. Thanks, Dad.”

“ _Call us when you’ve got more time, okay?_ ”

“Yes. I will.”

Marco felt his dad’s soft smile. “ _Take care, Squeaker._ ”

Marco nodded. “You too. ‘Ove you.”

“ _Love you, too._ ” The click of him hanging up. Marco dropped his phone in the crevice of his lap and pressed his forehead to his good knee, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. He’d go to practice and let Petra work on his knee, although he knew it’d only take a glance from her for him to spill the beans and her to send him home to stare at the spackled ceiling and try to find an owl while Connie talked about old ghosts. And so it goes.

* * *

It was Friday morning of the ninth week of the fall semester, and Marco was half an hour late to Jean’s office hours.

He’d woken up on time, but his usual quick morning routine fell stale and sluggish. Abuelita wouldn’t be there to nag him to get his nalgas perezosas in gear and clean the grease trap anymore. His family was all together, consoling each other in Miami, and he was stuck three states away from anyone who cared enough to cry.

It was a bit too much for seven AM on a Friday.

But he got up. He took a shower, hopping down the hallway without his brace or crutches to and from the communal bathroom. He got dressed, throwing a long-sleeved shirt on under his jacket and a hat over his wet hair - it’d gotten cold in the mornings lately. He adjusted the towels duct-taped to the tops of his crutches so the soft side faced up. He threw his backpack over his shoulders, spared a final glance at the snoring lump that was Connie, and left the dorm at eight thirty-five.

Jean was folding the eleventh sticky note crane of a developing gallery when Marco shoved open the door. Jean looked up and jumped to hold the door open, face bright, eyes still orange. “Hey, big guy, thought you weren’t gonna make it! Payin’ me back for last week, huh?” Marco looked up at him, and Jean’s happy chatterings faded out. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

Marco blinked. “What?”

“Your eyes-” Jean bit his lip. “You just look rough, man.”

“Gee, thanks.” Marco swung past him to his usual chair, chucking his crutches on the table and dumping his backpack next to them, dropping into his seat hard. Jean watched from the door until he settled down, then crept up and slipped into his own chair. Marco slumped on the table and glared at the assembly of cranes. Jean mirrored him, hands going back to his half-done crane, keeping his eyes away from Marco.

“You wanna… talk about it?” Marco shrugged, flicking the nose of a crane so it toppled over. Jean finished his last crane, corners sharp, and placed it in Marco’s hands. “What’s wrong, Marco.”

Marco flapped a wing of the crane. “I wanna go home.”

Jean hummed. “Miami, right?” Marco nodded, eyes focused on the yellow creases. “Somethin’ goin’ on down there?” He nodded again.

“Mi Abuelita - my grandmother, she-” His throat closed on itself. He dropped the crane on the table. “I should’ve been there.”

“Hey now.” Jean laid his hand on Marco’s back, fingers spread wide over a shoulderblade. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

Marco snarled his fingers in his hair and knocked his forehead on the table. “Stop, stop _saying_ that, I should’ve _been_ there, then maybe-” He choked, throat working on nothing. Jean’s hand rubbed down his side.

“You’ll wear yourself out worrying like that, big guy.” Jean paused, hand stilling. “Wanna know why I really didn’t show up last week?” Marco turned his head a little to look over his arm at Jean, whose smile was gone as he leant on his other hand, mouth parted and eyes unfocused. “Rohan’s a good dog, but he’s a big dog.” His throat worked in a swallow. “Was.” He sighed. “Anyway, he’s been sleeping on my bed most of his life - takes up most of it, of course. Dumb dog.” He took his hand off Marco’s back to scratch the line of his undercut. “Well, he’s been havin’ trouble gettin’ up for a while now, but he’s old, so it wasn’t weird.” Jean ran his hands through his hair, flipping it all to one side. “Last week, I woke up…” He sniffed, yanking his sleeve down over his wrist to wipe at his face with it. “M’sorry.”

“S’okay.” Jean flopped back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, lip cuaght in his teeth. Marco lifted his chin onto his crossed wrists. “I’m sorry.”

Jean rubbed his palm on his eye. “We had to call the vet to get’m, he’s such a big lug, y’know? And, just…” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Bad mornin’.” He choked on a laugh, a flash of teeth behind his wrist. “I promised ya I wouldn’t cry on ya an’ here I am.”

Marco shook his head. “Don’t apologize, that’s _awful_.”

Jean forced a watery smile. “Says the king of sorry.” He stretched, arms over his head and strip of stomach flashing, before he fell forward into another mirror of Marco, their elbows grazing. “Tell me about your grandmomma. Daddy’s or Momma’s?”

“Momma. Mom. Mami.” Marco wrinkled his nose. “You’re gettin’ to me.”

Jean smiled, orange eyes crinkling. “Like the plague, huh?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Anyway, Dad doesn’t really keep up with his family much. Like, at all. He had a hard time coming back from Kuwait.” Marco rolled his paper crane between his fingers, making it spin. “Mami’s the one who pulled him from the gutter.”

“Now _that_ sounds like a story.” Jean rolled up to prop his chin in his heads, hot breath dusting over Marco. “G’on. Tell.”

Marco stared at Jean’s face, open with a light smile. The crane stopped spinning.

“All right.”


	7. Parties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: So it's been A Month in the Carrie world. Among many things, I spilled coffee on my computer last weekend, and am posting this chapter from my new computer as the first activity I'm using it for! The keyboard's going to take a little getting used to, but it is shiny and pretty and wonderful. Here's the chapter. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

It was Sunday afternoon of the tenth week of the fall semester, and Marco had the sleeves rolled up on his red sweater in Armin’s kitchen. Mikasa had managed to separate him and Eren for a while by charging Eren with cleaning his atomic wasteland of a room while Armin stumbled through helping Marco make ayote en leche, his Abuelita’s favorite recipe. Armin had spent the last fifteen minutes tripping over his own tongue as he rambled about his plans for his club/his baby while he cut up a sole green pepper so slow it made Marco’s hands itch. But he kept from taking over by the skin of his teeth, occupying his hands with everything else.

Armin _finally_ finished with his pepper and handed off the cutting board to Marco, who swiped the uneven pepper chunks into the pot with a quick knife swipe. “So I’ve been thinking about how to bring your idea for the club to life,” Armin said with a bright smile. Marco frowned.

“What idea?”

“The thing you said about creating a safe space to talk in?” Marco blinked, biting his lip as he stared into the pot of milk and sugar – oh, right. He laughed, scratching the line of his hair behind his ear with the butt of his spoon.

“Sorry, forgot about that, it’s been a long few weeks.”

Armin smiled, blue eyes crinkling. “No worries, I get it.” He took the cutting board back from Marco to rinse it off in the sink. “Anyway, I think I’ve got an idea how to make it work.”

“Oh?”

“It’s simple, really, I dunno why I’ve never done it before. We make a chatroom.”

“What, an IRC or something?” Armin blinked at him, eyebrows raised. Marco huffed. “Just because I weightlift doesn’t mean I don’t understand the Internet, chicken little.” Marco stirred his pot. “How will you tell people?”

“Word of mouth, I guess.” He took a dishcloth to the dripping cutting board. “Posters would be better, but I don’t want to attract the wrong crowd, y’know? Start with the club, get them to tell their friends, so on, blah blah blah.” He put the cutting board up and started cleaning the dishes cluttering up the sink. “Maybe put a password on it if it becomes necessary.”

Marco smiled. “Thought it out a bit, huh?”

Armin stuck his tongue out at him. “I’m not completely inept, brother bear.” He scrubbed hard at a pot, hair falling out of its ponytail into his face. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d help spread the word, and maybe mod it? It was kinda your idea, after all.”

Marco raised his eyebrows. “You know that it’s hard for me to be intimidating over the Internet, right?”

Armin wrinkled his nose. “It’s not that, dummy, it’s just…” He paused in his scrubbing. “You’re a good influence. On Eren, on us, on everyone. You’re good at talking someone down from a ledge.” He tucked some hair behind his ear, pulled his ponytail tighter. “You’d be a big help.”

Marco sighed, lowering the heat on the stove. “I guess I can’t say no to that.” Armin beamed, drying a pot and setting it aside. Marco smiled. “So, what’re you gonna call it?”

They talked about the details while Marco’s pot bubbled away, Eren and Mikasa’s cleaning banging away above them. At some point, Eren stomped down the stairs and poked his head in the kitchen.

“Hey, Ar, where’s the vacuum?”

Armin’s constant smile softened. “It’s in the hall closet, like always.” Eren made a face at him through his ‘thanks, asshole’ and disappeared again, clanging and crashing around in the hallway before hauling the vacuum up the stairs, clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk. Armin shook his head, soft smile still on his face. Marco bit his lip.

“About Eren.” Armin froze. “You said I’m good at talking people off of ledges, right?” Armin blinked at him, hair in his face. Marco chewed on his cheek. “You do realize you’re standing on one.”

Armin’s smile fell, and he sighed, hanging his dishcloth off the sink. “I know – I know he’s straight.” Marco winced – a little off the mark there. Armin smiled up at him again, eyes wavery and big. “But he’s made exceptions for me before. Who’s to say he won’t do it again?”

Marco hissed. “Ar…”

Armin rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I don’t have my hopes too high,” he lied. “It’s – it’s not like I can help it, yeah?” He cleared his throat over its crack. “Don’t tell him, okay?”

Marco stared at Armin, little and broken. “Of course, man. I won’t tell a soul.”

* * *

Out of all the crap going wrong in his life these days, at least his physical therapy was progressing on target. Monday afternoon, Petra sat back from the exam table Marco was stretched out on, hopping up to sit on the one behind her. Marco pushed himself up to his elbows as she smiled at him. “I think you’re about recovered, don’t ya think?”

Marco blinked, smile tugging at his mouth. “Really?”

“Well, we need to let Dr. Hange check you out first, and I don’t want you back up to full speed for another week or so, but we can at least get you off the crutches.” Marco pumped a fist in the air, and she laughed. “I guess that means you feel stable enough to walk on your own, huh?”

Marco grinned. “It’ll be nice having control of at least one part of my life again.” Petra smiled, a line digging across her forehead.

“Everything all right, sugar?”

He shrugged, pushing up to sit straight, bending his good leg to hold his ankle, bad leg stretched out. “Yeah, just… long semester, y’know?”

She hummed, ear on her shoulder as she contemplated him. “Okay. Well, if you ever wanna talk about it, I’ll be right here.”

He smiled, weak even to himself. “Thanks, Pet.”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Do you ever go out, sugar?” He frowned at her, but she smiled. “It’s just that all the other boys are always talkin’ ‘bout what they did this weekend and what they’re doin’ the next, but you always keep to yourself. Not sayin’ that’s a bad thing, of course, I just wanna know how you’re doin’.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you sure that you’re a _physical_ therapist?”

She laughed, shaking her bangs back. “It comes with the territory. You boys need a lot of lookin’ after.” She reached over and patted his leg below his knee. “I’m not sayin’ you should become some wild party animal overnight – please don’t do that, actually. But it might not be bad for you to spend some time with more people than me.”

He smiled at her, lopsided. “Don’t put yourself down too much, Pet.”

“Oh hush.” She shoved herself away from his leg. “More people _your own age_ , smart-alec.” She hopped down to her feet. “Just somethin’ to think ‘bout, sugar, nothin’ more.” She cracked her knuckles. “Now, let’s cool you down and you’ll be ready to go.”

* * *

The crazy physician at health services who almost belonged to the athletic department cleared Marco for getting off his crutches on Wednesday before practice, and he would’ve skipped out of there if he could. As it was, his knee was still only a little tender if it bent it too much, so he settled for making the front desk attendant give him a hi-five as he left. Petra would still supervise his practices so he wouldn’t irritate his sprain more, but he could _walk_ and it was _glorious_. He’d never appreciating walking more than on his first free trip across campus.

As he _walked_ back to his dorm to change out his school bag for his practice one, he took the long way home because he could. Around the edge of the green, he saw Bertl coming from the opposite way, ducking down to talk to a short blonde girl with a big nose. She had to be that girlfriend Reiner had mentioned. Marco glanced her over before they noticed him – she didn’t seem like a homewrecker.

Bertl finally looked up to see him and waved, bloodhound face drawing up like curtains. “Marco! Got outta the crutches at last, huh?”

Marco grinned, clapping his hand to Bertl’s and bumping shoulders, too elated to hold a grudge. “Just got out of ‘em now! Man, it feels great to walk like a human again.” He nodded at the girl, who was staring at him with sharp blue eyes. “Hey there.”

Bertl jumped. “Oh! Marco, this is Annie.” Annie jerked her chin up as Bertl hovered his shovel-hand at her back. Definitely the homewrecker. “She’s on the field hockey team.” Marco raised an eyebrow and stuck out his hand.

“Always a pleasure to meet a fellow athlete.” She shook his hand, grip a shade too firm.

“Likewise.” She shoved her hands back in her sweatshirt pocket. “I’ve seen you play. You’re good. Glad to have you back in action.” He grinned and ducked his head. Annie cut her eyes at Bertl, who winced before his face lit up.

“Oh! Marco, Annie’s sorority is having a homecoming party after the game at her place, they’ve got a house off campus. It’d be really great if you could be there, so we could, y’know, catch up’n stuff, I’ve barely seen you since the, ah, whole thing happened.”

Marco smiled, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. “You know, that sounds great. It’ll be fun to see y’all outside of practice, yeah?” Bertl smiled, shoulders dropping a little. “Will it be a team party, or…?”

Bertl shrugged. “Depends on who shows up.”

Marco smiled. “Okay, cool.” He shifted on his feet in the sudden silence, Annie still staring him down with her hooded eyes, Bertl’s shoulders hunching back up to his ears. “Anyway, I gotta go, so-”

Bertl jumped. “Oh! Yeah, of course, see ya later!” Marco stepped aside to let them pass by, smiling at Annie.

“Nice to meet you.” She nodded, face in resting bitch mode, before taking Bertl by the wrist and dragging him on their way. Marco watched them go, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth, before shrugging and turning back to home.

A few hours later on his way from his first real practice in a while (although Petra’s tight watch kept him from above a walk), he was concentrated on keeping his face set and pace even and blind to his surroundings. He wasn’t about to admit that practice had made his knee sore again. He didn’t hear the _thumpthumpthump_ of running Chacos over the blood in his ears until it was too late and a five foot six monster crashed into his back. He stumbled, pain shooting up his leg as it almost caved under his weight plus a hundred forty (hundred thirty if she ever asked), heavy sports bag swinging from his neck. He groaned, and Sasha laughed in his ear, holding him up with her sloth arms around his chest, hands palming him.

“Whoa, you are, like, super muscley. Do you work out?”

“ _Sash_.” He pried her hands away and turned around, hopping just a little. “That wasn’t nice.”

She grinned and slapped his arm before weaving hers around it and directing them on their way to the sciences building, a leech to his elbow. “So, you’re finally back to normal, huh?”

He winced, her fast bouncing pace jarring his knee with every step as he tried to readjust his practice bag. “Almost. Hey, can we slow down a bit?”

She stopped bouncing, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she grinned up at him. “Oh my God, you’re _not_ normal! I knew it!” He sneered at her. She fake-winked as she adjusted her latch on him so he could lean some weight on her. “You’re such a wimp.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “A wimp who could kick your ass asleep.”

“Yeah, cause you’d roll on me, fatass.” Marco snorted, grinning. She wrinkled her nose at him, tongue between her teeth, before her beam faded to a soft smile. “Really, are you okay? I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just need to take it slow.”

She hummed, pace slowing to his, soft fingers wrapped around his wrist. “So you won’t be in the homecoming game, then.”

“Probably not, if Pet – my PT – has her way.”

Sasha laughed, a donkey bray. “Yeah, you should listen to your PT, they know their shit.”

Marco smiled at the sidewalk. “At least I’ll get to suit up so I can pretend there’s a chance.”

“That’s the spirit.” She tapped her fingers on his wrist. “Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask – how’s the brother doing? Did he take both of those twins to his dance or not?”

Marco huffed. “I never should’ve told you about Feli, should I?”

She grinned, eyes narrowing. “It’s just too good to resist.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “He ended up faking sick and skipping it altogether, and they’re pissed at him – at least they were a week ago.” She giggled, knocking her head against his shoulder.

“He’s up shit creek without a paddle, huh?”

Marco laughed, chin knocking his chest. “That’s one way to put it.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “What about you and Connie?”

She swung on him. “What? Does he talk about me? Does he have a secret girlfriend I need to beat up? Is there a rash on his butt? Does he stink?”

Marco laughed, bumping her with his elbow. “I think you’re fine on that front, kid.” He tilted his head at her, her hair curtain hiding her eyes. “Do you actually like him, then?”

“He’s a black guy who doesn’t think I’m dumb, isn’t crazy, and likes to buy me food. Of course I like him.” She shrugged as they came around the edge of the sciences building to the entrance closest to the stairs. “He’s shorter than me and a Panthers fan, but nobody’s perfect.”

Marco laughed on as Sasha slithered her way out of his hold to get the door for him. “I’ll never get you straight people.”

“Hey, when you’ve had the boyfriend luck I’ve got, you’ll reevaluate your standards, too!” Marco bit his lip as he passed her into the building before she flanked him again, ranting at the floor. “Do you _know_ how _hard_ it is to find a single black guy up here? Dude, I ain’t about to let this kid go without sleeping with him _at least_ twice.” Marco shook his head as he followed her into the stairwell.

“Please just don’t do it in my room, okay?” She threw a laugh over her shoulder as she bounded up the stairs two at a time. He braced himself and gripped the railing. He could do this.

She paused at the top of the flight and looked back down. “You want some help, baby?”

“Nope! I can do this!” She snorted and leant against the wall with her arms crossed.

“Whatever. You should whisper in Connie’s ear when he’s sleeping that he should ask me out.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but he’s got a messed up sleeping schedule.” He chewed up his cheek with each step. Almost to a chair, almost to a chair.

“Maybe we should’ve taken the elevator.”

“You’re not making me go back down now, puta.” He mounted the first flight and let out a hiss, taking the weight off his knee as his head swam in light syrup. “Going down is actually worse.”

She winced and held out her arm. “Sorry, man, I wasn’t thinking. We really should’ve gone to the elevator.”

Marco shook his head as they started up the next flight. “I needed the exercise anyway.”

It took a bit, but they got to the lab. The flat stretch of second story hallway let Marco get his control back so he could hobble in alone to Jean’s class.

Jean’s sharp eyes (a halfway hazel today) caught his limp anyway, but at least he didn’t freak out about it. Marco got a few congratulations from his labmates as he walked through, and he plastered on a grin as he said no, he wouldn’t be on the field this weekend, but next game he’d be up and raring. Ymir raised her eyebrows as he hopped the last bit up to his stool and plopped onto it, dumping his bag at his feet with a sigh. She leant in and whispered, “Still hurts like a bitch, huh?”

“Oh yeah.”

Ymir snorted, rolling her eyes. “Men.”

Jean slammed the door closed for attention. Ymir sat back to listen to his opening statement for the lab.

Sasha and Ymir were oddly subdued throughout the lab, even when Jean stopped and talked to Marco about his knee for a good seven minutes, in which he offered another ride once they were done. Sasha and Ymir actually _worked_ on the lab while they talked about barely did anything besides look closer when Jean’s back was turned. When he got called away to put out another fire (metaphorically), Marco frowned at them.

“Okay, not like I miss it, but what the hell is wrong with y’all?” They looked up at him from Sasha’s lab notebook they’d been working over. Sasha’s eyes flicked to Jean’s back, and she shrugged.

“It’s not funny anymore, I guess,” she said with a dismissive wave, going back to her work.

“Yeah, it’s just kinda sad now,” Ymir offered, poking at a copper bar with her colored pencil. Marco coughed.

“ _What?_ ”

They both rolled their eyes. Sasha put down her highlighter. “Teasing y’all was fun and all, but now it’s just gettin’ old.”

Ymir nodded, writing down a measurement from the voltmeter. “Just ask him out already, bitch.”

Marco stared at them. “You’re both nuts.” They shrugged even as Marco’s blood raced and his ears flamed, spreading to his temples. “I can’t do that! He’s-” He shut his mouth, glancing around before leaning in close to murmur, “I can’t do that.”

Sasha fake-winked. “Yeah, I know. That’s why it’s sad.”

“Pathetic, really.” Ymir flipped her pencil in the air. “Krista thinks you really need to get laid.”

“Thanks for telling your girlfriend all about my non-existent love life.” Ymir flashed two fingers from her forehead in a salute, face even.

“Only fair after all I know about your little brother.” Sasha grinned at him, tongue in her teeth. “Now graph this line so we can move on already.” Marco huffed for a good ten seconds, but clammed his mouth shut before his foot continued its journey in there and made his knee hurt even more.

* * *

Marco learned caution over the first few days of no brace. He carried an ice pack in a lunch cooler to bring out whenever he had a few still moments, kept away from stairs and inclines, and only moved above a crawl if he was already late. Which, Friday morning, he was.

When he crashed into office hours fifteen minutes late, Jean sprang back in his seat, hands in the air. “Momma made me do it, I swear.”

Marco paused, frowning. “Do what?” Then he saw what was on the table. “Oh.” Jean sighed, gesturing to the platter of at least five different kinds of cookies that was the new centerpiece, Saran-wrapped and enormous. Marco raised his eyebrows as he sat down, biting his lip on a smile. “ _Really?_ ”

Jean sighed again, running both of his hands through his hair, wild with bedhead. “Momma’s got stuck in her research for a week now, and when she gets stuck, she bakes.” Marco’s shoulders jerked, but he kept his mouth shut. “We’ve been in cookie city since Tuesday, it’s ridiculous. She’s even lettin’ the _neighbors_ have some, and she _hates_ the Dungans.” Marco caved to his laughter, burying his face in his arms as he shook with it, tears in his eyes. Jean chuckled, but shoved Marco’s shoulder. “ _You_ may think it’s funny, but you haven’t had three hundred cookies takin’ up your kitchen counter so you can’t even make a damned sandwich.”

“You’ve never had your house be the ground control for a wedding, I bet.” Marco wiped his eyes on his sleeve and propped his chin on his wrists. “If you think you Southerners gossip you’ve never heard Hispanics go at it.”

Jean snorted, grinning. “How telenovela does it get?”

“Oh, man, don’t _even_.” He sat back so he could gesture while Jean laughed. “El chisme _entré_ familia Hispana es algo mas. _Enserió_! Si empiezas hablando de comida terminas hablando de lo que hizo tu tía Celia con el tonto de Ricky. Y que tu tía se enterró por hablarle a la abuela de lo que encontró en el mercado el sábado. Y no termina ahí si no todo el pueblo se enterra, hasta los ishtos que ni si quiera saben leer todavia-”

Jean wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, flapping at Marco with the other, helpless and hiccupping. “Stop, stop, I’ve got no idea what you’re saying but it’s too good, please, my stomach hurts!”

Marco laughed, a little breathless. “It’s even more entertaining when you understand it.”

Jean smiled and ripped off a corner of the Saran wrap to fetch a cookie, powdered sugar dusting the table. Marco followed suit, although his draw pulled out a black-eyed Susan. He snapped off the tip of the Hershey’s kiss with his teeth as Jean licked the sugar off his fingers. “That’s cool, that you can rattle off another language so easy. I only know synagogue Hebrew from when Daddy makes me go when he’s home.”

Marco laughed. “Have I ever mentioned how strange it is to remember that you’re Jewish?”

“You’n every other person I’ve ever met,” Jean said with a squint, looking down. “It’s like knowin’ church Latin, it ain’t nothin’ special.” Marco leant in, chin on his hands and elbows on his armrest. Jean looked up from his cookie and barked a laugh. “Seriously, man, I only know shit beyond _l’chaim_ if I sing it or if I’m _really_ drunk, you really don’t want me doin’ that right now.”

Marco smiled. “Why not? No one but us is around right now.” Jean rubbed at his red ear. “If you do it, I’ll recite a poem in Spanish.”

Jean stilled, hand on his ear. “Off the top of your head.”

Marco shrugged. “I had to memorize a few for high school Spanish and they just stuck with me. Besides, it’s too early in the morning for Ricky Martin.” Jean snorted.

“Okay, but you first.” Marco gave him a look, cookie in his teeth. Jean shoved the last of his in his mouth and swallowed. “I haven’t been to synagogue since Daddy deployed to Austria in July, okay? Momma hates the gossip biddies there. We even forgot about Yom Kippur!”

Marco huffed. “Excuses.” But he liked how Neruda felt in his mouth, so he caved easy when Jean stuck out his tongue, some powdered sugar stuck to his chin. Marco nibbled on his cookie, drawing his good leg up to his chest and propping his chin on it, staring out the farside windows. He licked his lips, taking in a deep breath before letting it go in a whistle.

“Amor mío, si muero y tú no mueres, no demos al dolor más territorio: amor mío, si mueres y no muero, no hay extensión como la que vivimos.” He sighed, cookie forgotten in his fingers, and rested his cheek on his knee. “Polvo en el trigo, arena en las arenas el tiempo, el agua errante, el viento vago nos llevó como grano navegante. Pudimos no encontrarnos en el tiempo.” Marco glanced over - Jean was staring, lips parted. Marco scratched the back of his head, clearing his throat. “Well, uh. You get the picture.”

“You’re really good at that,” Jean breathed. Marco tugged on his ear as his face heated up.

“It’s Neruda, he does it all, not me.”

Jean nodded, still spaced out. “What’s it mean?”

Marco turned away to pick at the crumbs of his cookie. “A lot of things. It’s a love poem.” He scratched his nose. “The English version doesn’t do it justice.”

“I bet.” Jean leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “Do you know another?”

Marco’s mouth flopped open, closed. “Well, I didn’t actually finish that one, it felt too long-”

Jean sucked in a breath and sprawled forward on the table, big hazel eyes almost in Marco’s face. “I’m gonna arrest you if you don’t finish it right now.”

Marco blinked, smiled. “Okay.”

* * *

Saturday’s homecoming game against Samford was a predictable blowout, but the inevitability didn’t prevent the school from storming the field when the last whistle blew. Petra’s evil eye had kept Marco off the field during the game after he’d stressed himself out so much the last few days, but she couldn’t keep him from celebrating with the other, blood a drumbeat under his skin and bubbles fizzing. It was a cold night out, but the hundred-press of heavy bodies at the huddle was warm as Smith called out blanket praises and dismissed them to the locker room, flood lights dimming.

Bertl found Marco there, shirt halfway over his head when Bertl coughed. “You still comin’ tonight?”

Marco popped his head through his collar. “Yeah, sure, why not? Where’s it at?”

Bertl jumped and dug in his practice bag, slung over his shoulder. “Oh, duh, of course you need that, I’m an idiot. I’ll text you the address?”

Marco smiled, shrugging his jacket on. “Sounds great.” A flash of crewcut blond walked behind Bertl’s shoulder. “Hey, is Reiner gonna be there?”

Bertl blinked at him, looked away to his phone. “Well, sure. Why wouldn’t he be?”

Marco shook his head as he shrugged his jacket on. “No reason. See you there.”

He took it slow on the way back to his dorm – he’d just stood there during the game, but his knee still twinged – as he went to unload his stuff and get a decent shower and a change before the party. Connie was in the room when Marco came back from the bathroom, his hair dripping on the towel around his neck. Connie beamed at him from his desk.

“Hey, man, great game! I know you didn’t play and all, but _I_ think you did a bang-up benchwarmer job.”

Marco smiled, lopsided. “Thanks, Con. Appreciate it.” Marco rubbed his towel through his hair one more time before hanging it from a bedpost. “They played well, though. Nice to see after the last few games of disappointment.”

Connie grinned. “Took ‘em that long to get used to not havin’ ya, huh?” Marco rolled his eyes, opening his closet to find a presentable shirt. Connie raised an eyebrow. “You goin’ somewhere, wild child?”

Marco sneered at his sparse closet. “There’s some sorority party my center invited me to that I should make an appearance at. It’s homecoming, after all.” He took a blue shirt off its hanger and shrugged it on, slapping his closet closed and frowning at the buttons. “You wanna come?”

“Really?”

Marco shrugged. “Sure, why not? This isn’t exactly my comfort zone, and it’ll be nice to have an escape plan.” Connie laughed. Marco took a step and lurched, his knee stiff after just a moment of standing still. Connie laughed harder, knocking his forehead on the back of his chair.

“And I guess the fact that I’ve got a car has nothin’ to do with this, huh?”

Marco grinned, hair flopping over his forehead. “I promise I’m not using you.”

Connie flapped his concern off as he hopped to his feet. “No worries, man, it’ll be fun. Just let me change, yeah?” Marco nodded and dug under his desk in the pile of discarded shoes as Connie tossed clothes around and theorized about the number of girls that’d be there. When Marco emerged from the well and sat on his bed to shove his shoes on, his closet door had swung open again. Marco raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think anything in there’ll fit you.”

Connie’s head poked up from the other side of the room. “Say somethin’?”

Marco frowned, but shook his head and leant over to close his closet door. “Nothin’.”

They heard the party before they saw it, a ramshackle rental house in the middle of unofficial frat row. Connie slotted his hollow bucket of a car between a pickup and an SUV on the curb, and even though Marco had promised he’d drive back if Connie wanted to drink, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get out of that without a bruise. Oh well, problem for a later Marco. Connie bounced around as they crossed the packed street and three lawns to the throbbing house.

‘Whoever showed up’ turned out to be half the football team. Every other body was big and tall, the empty spaces filled by the pin-straight hair trademarked to sororities. Connie stuck to Marco’s back like a burr, hand in the untucked tail of Marco’s shirt. Marco smiled and let him, weaving through the crowd and greeting when appropriate, letting Connie loosen up as Marco introduced him around. By the time they found Bertl and Annie in the kitchen, Connie’d let him go and had summoned a Solo cup from somewhere into his hand. Bertl let go of Annie to bump shoulders with Marco.

“Hey! Glad you could make it!”

Marco laughed. “Yeah, me and the whole first string! ‘Whoever shows up’, huh?”

Bertl shrugged, shoulders to his ears. “There’d be no one here if we lost.”

Marco grinned with a nod before swinging Connie around with an arm around his shoulders. “Bertl, this is Connie, my roommate.” Connie grinned and waved his cup. “Con, this is Bertl and his girl, Annie.” Annie jerked her chin up just as something shattered upstairs. She sighed.

“Excuse me. I need to go commit murder.”

Bertl laughed as she came around the counter to pass by them to the stairs, but his face dropped before he can after her. “Ann, you don’t _really_ mean that, do you?”

Marco snorted as they left. Connie grinned and elbowed him in the gut. “C’mon! Loosen up, man, have some fun, drink some shit!” Marco raised an eyebrow at him. “Dude, it’s not like one drink’s gonna knock you out, you’re a freakin’ mountain. I’m gonna track down the beer pong, you know how to find me.”

Marco grinned. “Ask for the only black guy who couldn’t deck me?”

Connie punched his arm. “Asshole. I’m gonna get fucked up in a house of strangers, bitch.” Marco gestured him on as Connie backed away, making a face before he turned and slipped into the crowd. Marco shook his head and continued his circuit around the house.

In a hollowed-out back room lit by a single lightbulb and the blue lights of the stereo, some of Annie’s pledges were doling out the alcohol – mostly homemade punch brewed in kitchen trashcans. Marco peered over a few heads to see what colors there were and locked eyes with Mina, her arm frozen down the mouth of a trashcan. She beamed, and he was caught.

“Marco!” She pushed around the bodies between them, cup stuck in her hand. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”

He shrugged, smile all left. “Well, Annie invited me.” He coughed. “This is your sorority?”

She nodded, hair flapping. “Wow, you know Annie? That’s so cool! She’s super tough!”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m friends with her boyfriend, so.” He glanced down at the cup of… Powerade blue? stuff in her hands. “What _is_ that?”

She glanced down. “Oh! All the pledges had to make a punch for the party – I added Gatorade to mine!” She shoved it at him. “Try it!”

“Oh- I really shouldn’t-” She honest-to-God _pouted_ at him. What did she think he _was_? He snorted. “I have a little sister, that trick ain’t gonna work with me.”

She gave up the pout with a smile. “You’re no fun. C’mon, I promise it’s good!” His lip curled, but he took the cup, sniffing it.

“What’d you put in this?”

“Lots of stuff – nothing illegal! Well, like – oh, you know what I mean!” He rolled his eyes, but took a cautious sip. He coughed, and she laughed, taking the cup and tossing back her own gulp. “I didn’t think you’d be so bad at this!” she yelled over the bass thrumming in Marco’s breastbone. He shrugged.

“I’m not in the habit.”

“That’s lame! C’mere.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the trashcan array, shoving through the buffer semicircle. He held back, arms stretched taut.

“No, really, I _really_ shouldn’t-”

She sneered at him over her shoulder, cup to her mouth, face glowing in the weak swinging light. “Stop being so uptight, boy.” She scooped out more of her punch and folded into him before he could blink, pressed to his front and cup between them. She giggled and took another sip as the song changed into something almost danceable. He took the cup from her and tossed some back – it didn’t burn as much as the first swallow – until it settled in his stomach. Oh boy. She tossed her hair back and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s show these white kids how to dance, huh?”

 

* * *

It was Saturday night of the tenth week of the fall semester – or was it Sunday morning? Whatever the day of the week it was, Marco was drunker than he’d ever been in his life. Mina’s punch lived up to its name, and sharing three cups of it with her (plus tastes of her friends as they came into their orbit) actually had him dancing with her like she wanted, colors shifting a step behind his eyes but his feet too well-trained to stumble after them.

Mina, of course, didn’t have a decade of vigorous physical exertion behind her, and was tripping and laughing in his arms, hair falling everywhere and sparkly shirt catching Marco’s eye with every flash. His knee had stopped hurting after the first cup was done; he could stand properly for the first time in a month without collapsing. He was sweaty again, but so was everyone – even Connie, who’d left the beer pong table at some point and was now working his way around the impromptu dance floor the back room had become. It was fun, being tipsy, surrounded by happy drunk people who couldn’t dance, even if a corner of Marco’s brain stayed tether to a sober earth and wouldn’t let him fly away with the rest.

His high was starting to float back down when Connie took Mina’s hands and asked where he could pee without scarring anybody. She laughed and pointed up, melting against Marco again when Connie spun away through the dancers. Marco’s hands fell to her waist, she squirmed – mierda.

“Mina, Mina,” he said, ducking his head down so he wouldn’t have to yell this. “There’s something you should know ‘bout me.”

She looked up – her glitter eyeshadow had spread its tracks all across her face. “Uh-huh?”

“Mina.” Her hair shone in the scattered light as she bobbed around with the music, eyes glassy, hands slung around his neck. “How drunk are you?”

“ _Very_.” She hauled up to crash her face into his jaw- _nonononononono_

He shoved her away, harder than he meant. She fell onto another couple- _nopenopenopenope_

He spun away and ran smack into Connie. “I thought the angry blonde bitch was datin’ the Bert’n’Ernie guy?”

“Huh?” Marco shook his head – that only made it worse. “What?”

A slap to his arm from the back – hard. “What the _hell_ , Marco?”

Connie ignored her, waving his hands in the air as he shouted, “She’s in the bathroom with some buff blonde dude! Is _that_ Ernie?”

Marco frowned, tipsy high moving to pound at his temples. “Wait, _who_? Nah – it couldn’t be – Reiner and _Annie_?”

Connie shrugged with a wild flail, hitting a few people in the process. “I jus’ wanted ta piss, not see other people’s junk! Wha’ kinda party is this?”

Marco glanced around – people were staring. “One we gotta leave.” A light tug on his elbow – Mina was hauling back on him.

“You can’t just _do_ that, asshole!”

He turned to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, her face swimming in his sight – maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought. “Look, shit’s ‘bout to go down here and I’m not about to be Reiner and Bertl’s janitor again, last time they sprained my knee for it, so pass.” Her scrunched-up face snorted at him as she struggled in his grip. “Marina, you’re a nice girl and I didn’t wanna do you like this, but I’m really gay so this would ever be a thing never.” She froze, mouth gaping, an affronted squawk squeaking out. “Stop flirting with me and then we can be friends, okay?” She shrugged him off, shoving his chest before she stomped away. He shrugged and snatched Connie, dragging him through the house towards the front door as the party clamored around them, distant shouts echoing from an upstairs window as they made their break for it.


	8. Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: There is a lot of Annie and chatfic in this chapter and I'm not sorry. This fic has consumed me whole. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [art I did for marco+jean character designs](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/post/112647306826) [the English translation of the Neruda poem "My love, if I die and you don't-" from the last chapter](http://hellopoetry.com/poem/9932/my-love-if-i-die-and-you-dont-/) [fermentation sciences](http://wine.appstate.edu/program)}

It was Monday morning of the eleventh week of the fall semester, and Marco’s toothbrush was hanging out of his bleary mouth when he remembered it was drop date. He groaned and grimaced into the mirror before spitting and rinsing.

His ecology gradebook wasn’t a pretty sight. Neither was his biology one, although he could blame that one on the football and anyone would buy it. His political science course was going fine, but it was kind of a joke so that A didn’t impress him much. Physics was an A too, barely, grounded in the good graces of biased graders and that miracle eighty-eight test score. At least he could keep Jean’s class a little longer.

He hovered over his registration page for a while, Connie snoring away above him and wind whistling at their window. He didn’t want to do anything as rash as dropping a class without a plan, but he had zero ideas for what to do instead of environmental science at such a late date in his curriculum. The logical step would be to talk to his advisor, but the academic advisor for the football team was terrible, and the one for his degree took him as seriously as a toddler. And he had to get some weights in before his nine am biology lecture. If he still needed that. He slammed his computer shut and shoved it in his backpack, pulling out his phone and flipping through his contacts as he shrugged his jacket on and slipped out.

His choices for a serious advice-giver were slim to none. He didn’t trust any of his football friends with academics as far as he could throw them, and he didn’t trust Sasha or Ymir as far as _they_ could throw _him_. His family would try to convince him to choose something that would help the restaurant and, consequentially, lock him into the management of it indefinitely, which wasn’t on his bucket list. Connie was asleep, and Mina was probably still pissed at him, and he didn’t have Armin or Mikasa’s number, so when he crossed everyone off, all he was left with was Jean.

He stared at the new text message screen for the entire bus ride around campus. Although Jean had given him his number weeks ago, it still felt like a huge step to _use_ it. Like acknowledge that whatever there was between them existed. He chewed his lip up in the ten-minute circuit, but when the bus stopped at the rec center, he tapped off a message and sent it before he could second guess, throwing up his hood against the morning mist.

To: Jean K  
Hey, do you have some free time later today? I need someone to talk to about changing my major  
Mon, Oct 27, 8:38 am

To: Marco the Muscle  
Sure, of course! Im flexible after 1, what works best for you?  
Mon, Oct 27, 8:41 am

To: Jean K  
Practice starts @ 3 so before then is good  
Mon, Oct 27, 8:44 am

To: Marco the Muscle  
Sweet! Ill see you then? Meet at the park?  
Mon, Oct 27, 8:46 am

To: Jean K  
Sounds like a plan. See you then  
Mon, Oct 27, 8:52 am

Marco tried to collect some ideas between then and one, but all he found in his trawling of the academic programs’ front pages was a disdain for the color yellow and a confusion headache. Why couldn’t he just know what he wanted to be when he grew up instead of having this laundry list of what he _didn’t_ want to be?

Marco got to the park (a green space around a creek on the edge of campus) early and found a spot by a tree that still had half its leaves to wait, pulling out his ice pack and strapping it to his knee. He’d spent Sunday doing homework on his bed and resting his knee up again, so it felt a lot better than last week, but every bit of downtime helped.

It hadn’t reached the peak of autumn’s chill yet, but the ice turned his skin a touch clammy when a red sweatshirt hood with bleached bangs fluffing out of the front came around the street corner. A wind lifted the hair on the back of Marco’s neck as Jean saw him and smiled, taking his earbuds out and stuffing them in his sweatshirt pocket.

“Hey, big guy.” He dropped his backpack on the grass and plopped down cross-legged by Marco’s ankle. “How’s it goin’?”

Marco shrugged. “Gettin’ along.” He adjusted his ice pack. “Hope I’m not puttin’ you out too much.”

Jean waved him off, shoving his hood back. “Nah, man, it ain’t a big deal, I ain’t never tired of seein’ your face.” He froze, hand on the back of his head, eyes wide. “Ah, uh, well, uh – you know what I mean, right?”

Marco smiled, eyes crinkling. “I feel like I’ve told you before that I don’t mind you thinkin’ I’m pretty.” Jean punched his ankle, ears red.

“Kneejerk reaction, asshole.” Jean gripped his own crossed ankles and leant in. “You forgot ‘bout drop day, ain’t ya?”

Marco groaned and looked up at the distant leaves. “I didn’t _mean_ to, it just…”

“Happened. Yeah, I get it.” Jean scooted himself forward, equal to Marco’s knee now. “You got a plan, or are ya fucked?” Marco ran a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. Jean barked a laugh, and Marco’s mouth quirked in a smile.

“I ain’t got a clue, honestly.” Jean’s head ducked down so his bangs fell in his eyes – he’d dyed his roots over the weekend. “Well, I know I wanna keep the pre-law, but after that…” He shrugged, resting his cheek on his knee.

Jean put his elbows on his thighs, tilting his head as he stared at the bark behind Marco’s shoulder, upper lip caught in his teeth. “Do you _like_ the science stuff? Like, at all?”

Marco frowned. “Somewhere, deep inside me, I guess I like chemistry equations on flashcards.” Jean snorted, grinning. Marco smiled back, tongue in his molars. “I guess… it’s just not as exciting as I’d pictured?” He picked at the grass at his side. “I chose this major because I wanted to go for something new, something that wasn’t about people or my family or being able to catch a ball.” He shrugged at the grass. Someone was playing “Wagon Wheel” on the guitar deeper in the park. “I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”

Jean hummed, knees bouncing and head barely bobbing with the distant acoustic. “Of course, I’d say you should join me on the math and/or physics train, but somethin’ tells me that ain’t the answer you’re huntin’ for.” Marco smiled, chin hitting his chest. Jean smiled, soft and hair in one eye. Marco bit his lip and looked away.

“I grew up knowing they wanted me to take over the restaurant, after Mami retired and all. Just how things were, y’know?” He brushed some hair away from his ear. “But when my high school coach told me I had a chance at college money, the world just… it wasn’t just Miami anymore. I didn’t even know how cornered I felt until I was handed an escape route.” He tugged on his earlobe, staring at the double-tied laces of Jean’s low tops, pale blue on red shoes. “My family, they wanted me in business or management or something, but like hell I was doing that for four years, I’d go crazy.” He frowned at the flash of blue skin over Jean’s left sock. “I like the restaurant, really, I do, and I like cooking, but. I know a trap when I see one.”

“Didn’t wanna get stuck reblazin’ your momma’s trail, huh?” Marco looked up from Jean’s shoes to his smiling eyes. “I can get behind that thought.”

Marco nodded. “Senior year was… fun. I got a few offers from the state schools, some in Georgia, and then here, where they gave me close to a full ride a twelve hour drive from Miami.” He picked at a hole in his jeans, worn white over his exposed knee. “I’d start more here than on a division one team, it’s a different climate, a different culture, and I could escape the family for a while and stop being the built-in babysitter.” He plucked at the grass again. “I wanted to do polisci full-on, but the team advisor steered me away, although at least I got into a science harder than exercise.” He wrinkled his nose. “Didn’t realize how terrible an advisor he was yet.”

Jean snorted. “That does explain a lot.” Marco glanced at him. Jean smiled. “Especially why you called on me instead’a all them.”

Marco scowled at the ground, ripping a handful of grass up in a hard yank. “He’s a joke without a punchline, but the one for my degree thinks I need every shortcut they can find and doesn’t believe I’m capable enough to submit a _stupid_ paper.” He chucked the grass away, then watched it flutter down, unconcerned with his temper. He inhaled. Exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Sure, man.” They fell silent, Marco digging at the grassroots and Jean messing with his phone. The mystery guitar player _really_ liked “Wagon Wheel”. Marco shivered and unstrapped his icepack to zip it back up in its cooler. Jean watched him. “How’s that doin’?”

Marco shrugged. “Better, but not perfect.” Jean nodded, his buzzing phone distracting him as Marco packed the cooler away.

“Hey.” Marco looked up at Jean’s nudge. “What’s your opinion on alcohol?”

Marco blinked. “That the world would be better off without it.” Jean hissed. “Why?”

Jean shoved his phone in his pocket. “I might have a solution for ya, if you think you can put that little thought behind ya.” He stood and held out his hands to haul Marco to his feet, grunting, hands soft and warm in Marco’s calloused ones. “God, you’re a heavy bastard.” He let Marco go like a hot potato and dusted his hands on his pants while Marco tilted his head at him. Jean grinned. “How about a field trip?”

Marco groaned. “It better not be far.”

Jean laughed, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “It ain’t, and I think you’ll like where it ends up.” Marco raised an eyebrow, but collected his own stuff and waved Jean on to lead. Jean shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “Have you heard ‘bout the campus brewery?”

Marco shrugged as they head back to the crosswalk into campus. “Heard it existed, but not much more than that. Why?”

“Well, they’re tryin’ to make a major out of it and the local vineyards, with some water science and business stuff thrown in. IT’s not official yet, but it’s gonna come through soon, and they’re tryna find butts to put in seats.” He grinned at Marco. “And one of my friends is one of the leads on it.”

Marco laughed. “Why am I surprised?”

Jean flicked his hair out of his eyes. “You spend enough time here and you pick up an odd connection or four.”

Marco tilted his head at him. “How long _have_ you been here? I know you said you’re a fifth year, but it seems like more than that.”

Jean smiled, lopsided enough that he was almost winking. “Hit the nail right on the head there, mister.” He sighed and squinted at the partly cloudy sky. “The first time I went to one of my momma’s lectures was when I was in fourth grade.” His head flopped forward to watch his feet. “Daddy was gone a lot, even then, and Momma doesn’t trust any of her coworkers as far as she can spit, and she didn’t wanna stick me with a sitter all the time, so I kinda grew up in that office a’hers. Most of the physics professors babysat me through my multiplication tables and shit - most of the science professors in general, really.” He shrugged. “I spent most of high school on campus, honestly, shadowing senior astronomy courses when I was supposed to be in my entry-level English class.” He jerked his chin forward. “That’s where I met Franz - the fella we’re fixin’ ta see. His girlfriend was the only one who’d talk to the skinny high schooler hidin’ in the back row.” He kicked along a chunk of asphalt from the sidewalk. “She’s gone on to NC State for grad school by now, but we still work on shit together on our spare time. It’s fun, and Franz is always around to do stuff with on my monthly itch ta hit the town.” The asphalt chunk bounced into the grass. “This program’s his baby.”

Marco nodded. “What’s it called, then?”

“Still workin’ on that.” Jean glanced at him and nudged his side with his elbow. “You said you wanted to try somethin’ different.”

Marco breathed a laugh. “You sure do know how to deliver.”

They came around a building to white obelisk statue Marco had passed by hundreds of times before. “Of course, I ain’t gonna _make_ you do this, it’s still your choice an’all, but I think you’d be a better fit than you’d expect.” He slid his phone out of his pocket and tapped off a text. “C’mon, he’s expectin’ us.”

The brewery was little more than a shop lab covered in construction scraps, tube tangles, and metal drums. The only human in the mechanical mess was bent over and waist deep in one of the drums, sparks flying out of the opening. Jean kicked the drum between sparks, and the person inside jumped, head banging on the drum, curses echoing, before he extracted himself. “That was not cool!” an accented voice muffled by a welding mask yelled.

“Yeah, you lived, ain’t ya?” Jean shoved his hands in his pocket and jerked his chin at Marco. “Franz, this is Marco. Marco, Franz.” Franz lifted his mask up to reveal wide cheekbones, a streak of grease crossing one, and a wide smile.

“Ah! The football player! I have heard much about you!” His accent was something heavy, something European. He juggled his blowtorch to pat out an ember on his sleeve and stick out a gloved hand for Marco to shake. He did, accepting the pumping of his arm as due course before Franz turned off the blowtorch and stripped off his gear, tossing it on a parts-covered table nearby. “So, my friend here was telling me you would be interested in joining my program?”

“Yes – well, maybe. I’m not sure…”

Franz nodded, running a hand over his military-grade haircut with a blinding smile. “Come, let us talk, you and I, and see what we can work out for you, yes?” Marco nodded, a little stunned. Franz slipped around tables towards a side door stuffed between shelves. Jean covered a laugh at Marco’s side.

“Forgot ta warn ya how Franz is the damnedest charmer that’s ever come Stateside, didn’t I?” Jean slapped his back and shoved him on. “C’mon, you get used to it.” Marco nodded and followed Franz into the side room.

An hour later, Marco knocked on the door of the team’s academic advisor, who looked up from his desk with a frown. “It’s almost practice time, Bodt, what’re you doin’ here?”

Marco came in and gripped the back of the waiting chair, muscles thrumming. “I’m going to change my major.”

The advisor stopped his paper shuffling. “To what?”

Marco grinned. “Fermentation sciences.”

* * *

If Marco thought the tension between Reiner and Bertl was bad _before_ Reiner was caught with Bertl’s girlfriend, he got a lesson in assumptions at practice. Of course he was back on the normal schedule just in time to deal with that and a very confused offensive coordinator who spend two days trying to dig out the reason that his previously competent offensive line was falling apart on basic plays. Marco breathed easier with the running backs and wide receivers got sent to the care of the quarterbacks while the line got punishment sprints.

On a water break, Eren collapsed on the bench next to Marco and downed half a water bottle before asking, “So what the hell?”

Marco sighed. “Don’t go to Greek parties. It never ends well.”

Eren raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you bailed on us on Sunday?”

Marco shook his head. “Nah, I really did need to do homework and rest my knee. But the hangover and the hungover roommate didn’t help.” Eren shrugged and massaged one hand with the other. Marco rolled his thumbs into his leg above his sore knee. “Did Armin and Mikasa miss me too much?”

Eren snorted. “Man, you’ve spoiled us _rotten_. Food’s not the same without you.” He bent back his fingers to stretch his wrist. “Miks can do the same things you do and it don’t come out right no matter what. You’re some kinda magic, I swear on my momma’s grave.”

Marco laughed, scratching at his sweaty scalp. “Well, that’s good, because I kind of switched majors to something like that yesterday.”

Eren blinked at him. “No shit?” Marco shook his head as Levi blew his whistle for the end of break. Eren grinned and slapped Marco’s shoulder as he stood. “Good for you, man, you were gonna waste a God-given talent diggin’ in the dirt.” Marco ducked his head and brushed off some sweat before standing, too. “I wanna hear all about it later, yeah?”

Marco grinned. “Sure, kid.”

He was starving when practice dragged to an end. He dressed out and ran away from the locker room in record time, and if that had something to do with the angry banging and sharp looks from Reiner and Bertl’s corner, well, he wasn’t gonna admit it to anyone.

What he didn’t expect to see when he crossed the parking lot was the homewrecker herself sitting on the stadium sign and popping gum, staring out over the campus away from the field. Marco, brow furrowed, walked over to her and stopped just short of the landscaping. “What’re you doin’ here?”

She jumped a bit, green bubble popping. “Oh. It’s you.” Marco raised an eyebrow. She looked down at her knees. “I had some stuff to give back to Bertl.” She picked at a hole in her jeans. “He’s not answering my calls.”

“And you’re surprised?”

She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t be so quick, mister, I know Mina.” He winced, barely. “You should’ve known that what happens to one sister, the rest are gonna learn.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I never meant for it to fall out like that.”

“Yeah, well, same.” She looked away, scowling. He tapped his fingers on his shoulder strap.

“I was about to get something to eat.” She glanced up through her overgrown bangs. “Wanna come?”

She frowned, but nodded and jumped off the sign, stepping around the violets to the sidewalk.

They ended up at the pizza place downtown, closer to the stadium than the dining hall. The trip was silent, Annie lost in her own head and Marco concentrating on not limping. When they got a booth and Annie ordered herself a beer over the early dinner rush chaos, Marco sat back and crossed his arms. “You first.”

She looked down at her paper napkin, folding in the corners. “How much do you know?”

“Only what Reiner’s told me.” She glanced up, hands stilling, and he shrugged. “Bertl keeps to himself.”

She nodded and went back to her napkin folding. “I’ve known Bertl for years, but we only started dating this semester.” She hid a little smile behind two knuckles. “Guess he wore me down.” Her hand and smile fell. She tore a corner of the napkin. “He’d mentioned Reiner before, but I didn’t meet him until we started dating.” She pulled a leg up onto the bench to hug it, picking at the pieces of her napkin. “I tried to stop it.”

Marco nodded. The waiter brought his water and Annie’s beer, then took their slice orders. Annie knocked back half her beer in one gulp as he walked away. Marco bit back a smile and leaned in. “See, here’s what I don’t get.” He ripped the paper off a straw and used it to gesture. “Not even a month ago, Reiner told me he had a thing for Bertl.” Annie blinked, leaning in as well, ice eyes round. “Now me, I could’ve told you that freshman year, but some people are clueless about their feelings.”

She raised a thick eyebrow. “And you’re an emotional savant, of course.” She sat back, leg slipping under the table as she sipped her beer and stared at the array of business cards collaged under the glass top of the table, lips pressed together tight. “Oh my God.”

“It was a bit of a shock that _you_ were the half Connie walked in on with Reiner, not gonna lie.” She pressed a palm to her mouth, hiccupping. Marco stuck his straw in his water and sipped at it while she regrouped.

“I’ve been tryin’ to talk to the wrong boy, haven’t I?”

Marco shrugged. ‘I’m just telling you what I know.”

She frowned at him. “You said Reiner is gay for Bertl. But what about the other way?”

Marco sighed and sat back in the booth. “I dunno, Bertl’s a hard guy to read.” He tilted his head. “So this whole… thing, it’s not weird for you?”

She huffed. “I used to date the head of the LGBT club.”

Marco froze. “Wait…” He snapped. “You’re _that_ Annie?”

“Do what?” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you know Armin or somethin’?”

“Yeah, I…” He scratched his ear. “It’s a story.”

She nodded and sipped her beer. “It usually is with him.” She frowned, licking the foam off her lip. “So does that mean that all that tongue-waggin’ Mina was goin’ on about after the party…”

He winced and crossed his arms tighter. “I kept tryin’ to let her down easy, but she just never got it.” Annie hummed and sat back, fingers drumming on her half-empty glass. He sighed. “She’s a nice girl, but there’s just no way I could give her what she wanted.”

Annie nodded. “You know she’s been tellin’ everyone who’ll listen for two seconds about it, right?”

Marco blinked. “What?”

“She’s young.” Annie stared into her beer. “She hasn’t learned how to handle heartbreak.”

Marco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Wonderful.”

Annie shrugged. “We’ve made our beds.” She drank half of her remaining beer. “Now we’ve gotta lie in ‘em.” She watched him over the edge of her glass. “I can talk to her, if you want.”

He rubbed his nose, gut churning. “The damage is probably already done, but thanks.” He smoothed down an eyebrow with a finger. “I could do the same for you, if you want.”

She smiled, drawing in the condensation building on her glass. “Thanks, but I think I should handle them now.” Marco’s lips twitched, trying to smile. Her mouth flattened. “I’m sorry I thought you were an asshole for the whole Mina thing.”

“It’s okay, I kind of am. She’s been flirting at me for months now and I haven’t had the willpower to tell her no.” He rubbed his temple. “She’s really just a nice girl, but just… not my type.”

Annie smiled, a secret lilt. “You wanna take one of my boys off my hands, then? I got an extra one for you.”

Marco laughed, hair flopping forward. “No thanks, they’re not really my type, either.”

Annie raised an eyebrow and leaned in. “That sounds definitive.” The waiter walked by; Annie tapped his elbow and gestured to her glass with a point; then looked at Marco with a head tilt. He started shaking his head, but stopped and nodded. Might as well start preparing for his major change now. The waiter took one look at his shoulders, Annie’s stare, and the full restaurant, and didn’t card him, walking away with a nod while Marco judged him. Annie leant back in. “So. Tell.”

He looked down at the card collage. “No, there’s…” He sighed. “Okay, well, there is maybe sorta _one_ guy…”

* * *

Marco got to drop ecology _and_ biology with his new major. They’d been back-to-back lectures on Monday through Thursday mornings, the only reason he got out of bed before ten. He still woke up early, of course - habits were hard to break - but he had time to laze around now before he hit the gym. Tuesday morning he spent taking care of everything a drastic, experimental major shift requires, but Wednesday morning he made a protein shake for breakfast and stayed in his dorm until physics, deleting all of the homework files for the now obsolete classes, humming a nonsense tune and clearing out his recycle bin after each deletion.

For the first time since they’d moved in, Connie woke up before Marco left. It was a sluggish process that Marco watched with a laugh caught in his teeth until Connie rolled over and found him staring. He sat straight up, eyes wide. “Wuzgoinon? You okay?”

The laugh bubbled out, making his eyes tear a little. “Yeah, dude, I’m fine.”

Connie blinked, rubbing at his bleary eyes, squinting out the window. “S’not snowin’ already, s’it?”

Marco snorted. “Let’s hope not, I hate playing in the snow.”

Connie groaned and fell back on his pillow. “’s too early for mysteries.”

Marco smiled and took pity on him, setting his laptop aside and turning to sit on the edge of the bed. “I dropping my morning classes.”

Connie shot up again. “Do _what?_ ” Marco massaged his lower left thigh, smile tilting up. Connie frowned. “Why’re you smilin’ ‘bout this shit? Ain’t droppin’ classes _bad_ , even for a football player? No ‘ffense.”

Marco wrinkled his nose. “Well, I wasn’t doin’ so hot in ‘em, and they don’t apply to my new major.”

“ _New major?_ ” Connie pushed himself up to sit, teeth flashing in a yawn. “Boy, what kinda trouble you got yourself into while I ain’t lookin’?” Marco laughed and fell back on his bed, arms spread wide, scalp brushing the cinderblock wall. “What y’all switchin’ to?”

“Fermentation sciences. It’s this-”

“No shit, you got the _beer_ major? That shit’s been locked down for _ever_ , how’d you manage that?”

“Friend of a friend is the guy in charge. Sort of.” He sat up on his elbows. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Dude, every alcoholic in the _county_ ’s heard of it. They gotta class on beer makin’ that kicked it all off and that shit gets snapped up at registration like fried chicken at a funeral.” He threw his sheets aside and rolled out of bed, landing on his feet with a thud. “Congrats, dude. You’re livin’ the college dream.”

“Thanks, Con.” He bit his lip on an idea and reached over his laptop for his phone - and saw his closet door hanging open. He frowned. “Hey, you haven’t been in my closet, have you?”

Connie looked up from his phone, unplugged charger in one hand. “Uh, no? Why?”

“I swear I close this stupid door every time I go in there, but whenever I look away it’s open again.” He reached over and batted it shut, glaring. He glanced at Connie, who was still playing with his phone, looked back - open. He groaned, and Connie jerked with a gasp.

“It’s the ghost! She’s here?”

“Are you _serious_?”

“Cabinets that won’t close are, like, the number one way she manifests aboveground! Ask Colleen and Sam down the hall!” Connie jumped over to inspect it. “Wow, our very own haunted furniture! This is _so_ cool!”

Marco rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, getting ready for the day to the chorus of Connie’s ectoplasm-fueled ramblings.

* * *

Through Eren, Armin convinced Marco to come back with him on Thursday after practice to help get his chatroom project off the ground. It had gone over well with the club members at their meeting earlier that week, and Armin was frantic to get it going with Marco as his backup. Marco wasn’t expecting much, especially so soon into their word-of-mouth campaign, but he’d underestimated the power of the campus gossip factory. When he and Eren got home around six thirty, Armin was lost in the world of IRC, tongue in his teeth as he typed away. Eren hugged his scalp with one arm as he passed the couch on the way to the kitchen. “Hey, blondie.”

Armin turned with a smile, saw Marco, and lit up. “Oh my God, you’re amazing. Here, take this over, I need to get somethin’ to eat, I’m _starvin’_.”

Marco opened his mouth to say he was probably worse, but Armin dumped the laptop in his arms and ran after Eren, guiding him away from the Hot Pockets to the Kraft macaroni and cheese. Marco sighed - _white people_ \- and sprawled out on the couch, flipping through the member list to count out the participants. He raised his eyebrows. “How many of these people are in the club?” he called out to Armin. Armin spun around from where he was standing a little too close to Eren.

“Not everybody! A few I can tell, but there’s definitely a number of folks I don’t know in there.”

yellowsub [18:39:43]: I KNEW IT  
pandacub01 [18:39:49]: OMG  
saffireblase [18:40:05]: I saw it with my own eyes!  
6woolenyen [18:40:11]: omg really?  
violently_spinning [18:40:15]: that’s fabulous  
saffireblase [18:40:21]: Leary’s got a gf  
purplegryff [18:40:25]: whoda thunk it  
saffireblase [18:40:42]: she’s stupid pretty too  
sandk [18:40:51]: well I didn’t see it myself but I heard Casings outed himself a few years back in class from my big  
violently_spinning [18:41:01]: really??  
pandacub01 [18:41:14]: omg im in his class RIGHT NOW  
6woolenyen [18:41:32]: like as we speak??  
saffireblase [18:41:41]: lolol

Armin added, “It’s mostly just gossip right now. Who knew we had so many gay professors, huh?” Marco flashed a smile at him, sitting back in their worn couch to prop his feet up on the ottoman. At least the three of them didn’t mind that he was using them for their extra space and full kitchen.

Armin finally shoved Eren away from his biohazard food and got to boiling water with a whistle. Eren collapsed next to Marco and clicked through the TV channels.

violently_spinning [18:42:02]: I always pegged him as straight  
sandk [18:42:14]: he’s not straight he’s just a dick  
falcon_punch [18:42:20]: LOL  
saffireblase [18:42:23]: hahahahahaha  
sandk [18:42:32]: I know it’s hard to tell the difference  
yellowsub [18:42:36]: fdhuajklfhdwaewafcd  
purplegryff [18:42:41]: ouch  
aliyane [18:42:49]: he’s a super dick though  
violently_spinning [18:42:55]: omg totally  
pandacub01 [18:43:01]: yeah!  
purplegryff [18:43:17]: I’ve never had him  
aliyane [18:43:29]: he lectures like you’re 5  
sandk [18:43:43]: HE DOES  
pandacub01 [18:43:45]: he NEVER sends out lecture slides  
pandacub01 [18:43:52]: OMG  
violently_spinning [18:43:58]: such an asshole

Eren groaned and tossed the remote on the ottoman, sprawling back and glaring at the ceiling. “You wanna go catch for me?”

Marco reared back with a frown. “We _just_ got out of practice, dude.”

“I _know_ but I’m _bored_.” He stretched, arms behind his head as he arched forward, yawning loudly. Marco rolled his eyes.

aliyane [18:44:06]: you have to wonder about that man  
yellowsub [18:44:09]: LOL  
saffireblase [18:44:12]: hahahaha!  
pandacub01 [18:44:13]: YOU REALLY DO  
puer_nerdii entered  
puer_nerdii [18:44:22]: hey:)  
violently_spinning [18:44:30]: hey!  
purplegryff [18:44:33]: hiya  
pandacub01 [18:44:34]: SUP  
aliyane [18:44:38]: and about what man would live with him  
aliyane [18:44:42]: hey  
puer_nerdii [18:44:48]: lolhey  
puer_nerdii [18:44:55]: whatre we talking about?  
pandacub01 [18:44:58]: assholes profs!  
yellowsub [18:44:59]: bitches  
pandacub01 [18:45:00]: and also gay profs

Eren snuck a glance in the kitchen, where Armin’s ponytail was swinging by the stove, and leant in to murmur at Marco. “I think something’s up with Ar.”

Marco cut his eyes at him. “And why would you say that?”

“He’s gotten all _weird_ lately. He barely looks me in the eye, and he touches me a lot, and always wants to know what I’m thinkin’, and what I’m doin’-” He huffed. Marco turned to rest an arm on the couch back, palm on his cheek bone.

“You want me to do something about it?”

“I dunno! Maybe?” Eren buried his face is the back cushion and spoke through the muffle, “I just want it to be back to normal.”

“I don’t think ‘normal’ exists in this house.” Eren glared in the sliver between his eyebrows and the couch.

“I thought you were _good_ with people.”

“That’s what people keep telling me.” Marco leant in, close enough to see the middlings edges where Eren’s two skins clashed. “The truth is, no one knows _what_ they’re doin’.” He sat back and swatted Eren’s shoulder. “You’ve gotta decide what you’re gonna screw up on your own.”

“Asshole.” Marco chuckled as Eren pushed up to cross his arms with a huff and throw his feet on the ottoman. “You’re supposed to _fix_ things, yeah?”

Marco snorted, hand to his forehead. Laughed, shoulders shaking, curled around Armin’s laptop. Eren slammed him on the back. “Dude, get it together, it’s not _that_ funny.”

Marco shook his head, rubbing at his leaking eyes. “No, no it’s not.” He took in a deep breath and rearranged the laptop on his legs, shaking it out. “Sorry, but I can’t even fix my _own_ life right now, I don’t think it’s wise to trust me with yours.” Eren huffed and picked up the remote again, grumbling under his breath.

puer_nerdii [18:47:49]: hey did yall hear about the gay football palyer?  
violently_spinning [18:47:55]: WHAT  
yellowsub [18:47:57]: WHAT???  
pandacub01 [18:48:03]: NO WAY  
aliyane [18:48:06]: WHERE  
saffireblase [18:48:11]: it’s not that ridic freshamn is it  
6woolenyen [18:48:17]: called it!  
falcon_punch [18:48:20]: nice  
puer_nerdii [18:48:28]: lol I dont think so  
sandk [18:48:42]: that’s been going around my sorority too  
pandacub01 [18:48:43]: whaaaaa  
falcon_punch [18:48:47]: crazy  
sandk [18:48:56]: rumor’s too jangled for a name  
puer_nerdii [18:49:08]: yeah the girls gossiping behind me didnt say  
pandacub01 [18:49:15]: I hope it’s one of the cute ones  
yellowsub [18:49:22]: maybe *you* do  
saffireblase [18:49:25]: haha  
6woolenyen [18:49:27]: lol  
sandk [18:49:33]: it’s a starter  
purplegryff [18:49:37]: hehheheahhah  
sandk [18:49:40]: that’s all I knwo  
saffireblase [18:49:49]: daaaaaamn  
6woolenyen [18:49:54]: thats p sweet  
sandk [18:50:08]: I know now I wanna know who it is  
falcon_punch [18:50:23]: hard to believe for me  
aliyane [18:50:28]: huh?  
violently_spinning [18:50:34]: why?  
falcon_punch [18:50:49]: prob just some soror bitch getting revenge on an ex who dumped her  
sandk [18:50:54]: hey now  
falcon_punch [18:50:58]: am i wrong  
pandacub01 [18:51:03]: ooooooo  
sandk [18:51:11]: shut up  
yellowsub [18:51:15]: lol  
falcon_punch [18:51:24]: im just sayin  
yellowsub [18:51:27]: I getcha  
saffireblase [18:51:29]: mmhmm  
falcon_punch [18:51:40]: id need something more than a rumor to buy it  
violently_spinning [18:51:42]: same  
sandk [18:51:50]: I just hope whoever it is is ok  
aliyane [18:51:56]: he’s a fb player he’ll be fine  
yellowsub [18:51:58]: I’m sure he’s fine  
sandk [18:52:09]: he could be one of the skinny ones!  
violently_spinning [18:52:17]: lol maybe  
teddylar [18:52:28]: he’s not  
yellowsub [18:52:33]: AR???  
puer_nerdii [18:52:36]: huh?  
pandacub01 [18:52:45]: DO YOU KNOW HIM???  
teddylar [18:52:52]: yes and it’s not Eren  
saffireblase [18:52:56]: eren?  
teddylar [18:53:00]: the ridic freshman  
yellowsub [18:53:07]: oooh right  
sandk [18:53:16]: so you know who it is then?  
sandk [18:53:19]: are they really gay?  
teddylar [18:53:26]: yes  
teddylar [18:53:35]: and im not armin im the guy yallve been gossiping about for 5 mins  
saffireblase [18:53:42]: what

“You okay there?” Marco blinked up at Eren, who had one eyebrow raised, leaning away. “You’ve been grinding your teeth for, like, five minutes. What’re they doin’, callin’ ya a Mexican?”

Marco’s lip curled. “Can it, kid.” Eren laughed.

* * *

With his new, -ology-free schedule, Marco’s Fridays swung open until his afternoon political science lecture. He spent a nice morning talking with Jean (who’d remembered Halloween and was dressed as some miner video game character Marco didn’t know) about the upcoming test and the likelihood of aliens. When ten o’clock came, Jean suggested (over the rim of the glasses Marco would have a hard time forgetting) that he visit the half-done brewery in his new spare time. Marco agreed before Jean’d even finished his sentence just to watch Jean smirk and push his glasses _which were actually his_ back up his nose.

The brewery-lab was called the Ivory Tower after the monolith outside, and as Marco circled it to the door he got the feeling that he was now doomed to inherit the chaos within. Might as well start straightening it up now. Plus, there were perks.

Franz was in the brew-lab when Marco nudged open the door, sitting on the floor and tinkering with a twisted mile of tubes. He looked up and smiled at Marco’s entrance, white teeth in a brown face, and Marco’s pulse jumped back up to office hour tempo. “Welcome, welcome! It is good to see you back!”

“Oh, yes, good to be back, of course.” Franz hopped to his feet to give his double-fisted arm pump of a handshake again.

“When I told the others of you, they were absolutely thrilled! It is not every day that my little program attracts someone of your statue!”

Marco smiled, lopsided. “Statue?”

Franz waved his hand in the air. “You have strength which will come in handy with the vinery. Those barrels are heavy.” He treated Marco to another of his blinding smiles. “I hope you are not afraid of heights.”

Marco bit his cheek. “Only healthily.” Franz laughed and patted his arm.

“Do not worry, we will fix that.” Franz gripped his elbows briefly – he was a hair taller than Marco, not something he was really used to off the team; Marco’s skin burned where he touched. Franz beckoned him into the brew-lab, kicking the tubes aside. Marco followed on an invisible leash. “I will be having class here soon, but perhaps you would enjoy shadowing it? If you would not have other places to be.”

“No!” Marco cleared his throat. “No, I’ve got a few hours to burn.”

Franz beamed. “Wonderful! Here, you may help me to move this.” He took one side of a standing vat, unplugged from the pipes in the wall next to two more a few yards away. Marco dropped his bag under a table and lifted it himself – more cumbersome than heavy to him. Franz laughed and stepped away. “Oh, yes, we will get along quite nicely. Come, it should be over here, next to the others.” He directed Marco with a touch to the elbow. “I was doing some cleaning of it – beermaking is dirty work, did you know?”

Marco huffed and set the thing down in line with two others. “I can imagine.” He rotated it to match the others and clapped the residual oil off his hands. Franz pulled out his tube tangle again, dropping to the floor again. Marco followed, feeling a bit like a lost puppy but he could live with that in exchange for Franz’s smile. “So, Jean told me how he knows you,” Marco said as he tried to lean casually on the worktable near to Franz, shoulders tense as he crossed his arms tight. “But how did _you_ get _here_?”

Franz beamed at him from the floor. “I came from Czech at nineteen on scholarship and thought the mountains and the girls were pretty.” He successfully extracted a long tube from the mess, whipping it out and handing it to Marco to put next to the straightened pile on the table. Marco bit his cheek as he took it and set it in line, then nodded at the remaining tangle.

“Need any help with that?”

* * *

It was Saturday evening of the eleventh week of the fall semester, and Marco was dressing out for the walk into the stadium before the Georgia Southern game. They were the only serious competition in their division two conference, and Levi had promised Eren that he could play for the entire second half. Eren was beside himself, jumping around on the benches and checking that everyone was tying their laces right. Bertl and Reiner had ‘miraculously’ resolved their problem since Tuesday, which Marco was sure he’d hear the details of sooner or later. Reiner was egging Eren on from across the locker room while Bertl gave them both dirty looks. Marco laughed at all of them, pre-game adrenaline thrumming – this would be his first full game back, too, and although he already felt Petra’s hawk eyes on him and his knee, nothing could turn down his bubbling anticipation.

The wide receiver with the Captain American tattoo on his back slid up beside Marco while he was chugging a pre-game Gatorade. “Hey, so that gay player everyone’s talking about. It’s you, right?”

Marco choked, coughed. “What?”

The wide receiver held up his hands in defense. “Hey, it’s okay, I don’t care! It’s fine!” Marco’s lip curled. “Look, no one’s ever brought it up ‘cause you never made it weird, but like, did you really think we didn’t know?” Marco growled, fingers crunching at his water bottle. The wide receiver grimaced and took a step back. “Shit, dude, that came out wrong, I just meant-” He scratched his temple. “I was just makin’ sure it ain’t me.”

Marco narrowed his eyes, teeth grinding. “You chose _right now_ to ask about this.”

“Look, I’m tellin’ ya, no one cares! You’ve never, like, tried to hit on anyone or anythin’, so whatever, we’re cool.” Marco kept glaring, so the wide receiver backed off with a shrug and a grin. “I mean, if it makes ya feel better, I am a little, too, so…”

Marco looked to the grungy ceiling for guidance, strangling the Gatorade bottle in his hands. “Please go away.”

“Sorry, dude, don’t have to get pissy about it!” The wide receiver snuck a few glances as he backed away, eyebrows drawn in and lip caught in his teeth, but Marco couldn’t care about his concern right then. He sighed and knocked his head into the top frame of his locker, eyes clenched shut. God, he still had a game to play.

Eren jumped by behind him, shook his shoulders, kept on, wild laugh catching fire to the team. Marco dropped the twisted Gatorade bottle to the bottom of his locker and closed it, plastered smile not reaching his eyes when he turned.


	9. Streaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I can't even tell you how much Sasha has taken over this story. Don't base characters on your siblings, folks. Also, Marco is a big gay baby. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [the tumblr tag I track despite the only posts in it being mine](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/fic:-undercurrent) [Jean's stupID new hair](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/post/114706023741)}

It was late Sunday afternoon of the twelfth week of the fall semester, and Marco wasn’t paying attention as he reached for the handle of his dorm’s door, distracted by his phone, and jumped at the cotton texture. An old sock was stuck on the handle like it was the foot – one of his. He groaned and kicked the door, rattling the cheap lock and jolted his weak knee. “Come _on_ , guys, you could’ve _told_ me before I walked across campus!” Muffle laughter echoed through the door, Sasha’s donkey bray overpowering Connie’s. “Get off my bed!” Marco called, pounding at the door with a fist and a forearm.

“ _Chillax, pipsqueak, your sheets are safe!_ ” Sasha yelled back. The laughter trailed off, and he pressed his hand to his throat and looked down at the Cool Whip container in his hands.

“I guess y’all don’t want the food I brought, then?”

 _THUMP_. He bit down his smile as the door sprang open, Sasha in her bra and jeans, hair a mess and eyes alight as they honed in on the sugar smell. “Holy _shit_ , you’re amazing. Gimme.” Connie squawked in the dimmed background as Sasha snatched the container from Marco’s hands and gave him a quick, tight hug, her sweaty bare skin making his skin crawl. “You know you’re the best guy ever, right?”

Marco sighed. “I can find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Now get off me.” She let him go with a giggle and hopped back into _his_ dorm, Connie squeezing out a ‘ _sorry!_ ’ before she kicked the door shut. Marco shuddered and ran the hell away.

To: Numbah 5  
Heads up im heading back  
Sun, Nov 2, 5:21 pm

To: Numbah 21  
Haha srsly?? Did your roomie finally get abducted  
Sun, Nov 2, 5:24 pm

To: Numbah 5  
No hes getting laid. And its ghosts not aliens  
Sun, Nov 2, 5:25 pm

To: Numbah 21  
Same diff. Aight youve got the living room tonite if you need  
Sun, Nov 2, 5:27 pm

To: Numbah 5  
Love y’all so much  
Sun, Nov 2, 5:28 pm

To: Numbah 21  
Lol dont get too sappy on me now save that for the game  
Sun, Nov 2, 5:31 pm

To: Numbah 21  
I can send miks or ar to pick you up if you want  
Sun, Nov 2, 5:36 pm

To: Numbah 5  
Its ok im almost there but thanks  
Sun, Nov 2, 5:38 pm

The house still smelled like saturated fruit when Marco opened the door (he’d stopped knocking in September). The three of them chorused a greeting from the kitchen, sitting where he’d left them an hour ago. They laughed at him as he collapsed in his vacated chair, hands in his hair.

“Well that was a waste.”

Eren laughed and punched his shoulder. “Well, it was about damn time you got ‘round to spendin’ the night. We haven’t pulled out the couch in forever.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “So who’s the lucky bug takin’ your spot tonight, huh?”

Marco winced. “It’s one of my lab partners, and she _better_ stay out of my bed.” Eren snorted. Mikasa raised an eyebrow.

“What I’m hearing is that this is your own fault.”

Marco blinked, then groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I need a freaking drink,” he moaned while they laughed at him. Curajos.

* * *

Connie texted him the all-clear with an overflowing string of apologies at about eight the next morning. Marco wrapped up making breakfast for the house (he got to _make_ his _own_ breakfast for the first time in _months_ ) and decided to let Connie stew in his anxiety as he folded the pullout back up and headed back to campus without replying.

When he got back to their dorm half an hour later, the sock and Sasha were gone and Connie was fidgeting at his desk. He hopped to his feet when Marco came in, wringing his hands.

“Dude, I am _so_ sorry about that, I didn’t- it just sort of happened, and-”

Marco chuckled and cut him off, digging around in his (already open) closet for a clean shirt. “It’s fine, man, I know how Sash works. She has a way of getting what she wants. Just gimme a heads up next time, okay?”

Connie sighed, shoulders dropping as he collapsed back on his chair. “You really are the best guy ever.” Marco smiled as he pulled yesterday’s shirt over his head to replace it with a clean one. “Seriously, though, if you ever need _me_ to clear out, all you gotta do is pray and I’m gone.”

Marco huffed into his clean shirt as he tugged it down. “I don’t think _that_ ’ll be happening any time soon, Con, but thanks anyway.”

“Well, why not?” Marco looked at him through the slats of the bedframe. “I mean, I’m pretty straight and stuff, but if I was gay I’d totally be into you.” Marco rubbed the side of his nose to hide his smile. “You’re hot, you’re nice, super considerate and shit, and if that stuff you brought last night was you doing, you cook like a damned angel.” Connie laughed. “Sasha practically _inhaled_ it before I could get more than a bite. _She’d_ probably marry you if you asked, and I can’t say I’d be mad.”

Marco shook his hair into his face and crouched to dig for some clean boxers. “So what’re y’all now, anyway?”

Connie shrugged. “Whatever she wants us to be, I guess.”

Marco grinned as he found reasonable underwear and stood. “Good answer. You’ll do fine.” Connie laughed, rubbing at his face.

Marco spent an hour cramming for his physics test and talking to Connie before he had to pack up and head out for said test. Jean grinned at him when he came in the lecture hall, Marco’s pulse jumping in his ears as he smiled back.

It wasn’t the miracle test that the first one was, but Marco felt pretty good about it when he handed it to Dr. Rhodes a few minutes early. She smiled, laugh lines around her eyes deepening when he made a point to show his student ID. Jean gave him a little wave over the head of the person he was helping in the back. Marco ducked his head and slipped out.

Sasha was leaning against the wall by the door, frowning at her phone and ankles crossed. She looked up when he came out and smiled, shoving off the wall with a shoulder to fall in step beside him.

“Thanks for last night. You’re seriously the coolest.”

Marco smiled. “I went over this with Connie already, but you’re welcome. Just don’t make too much of a habit of it, okay?”

She laughed, shaking her hair over her shoulder. “Wanna know how good it was?”

“Please, God, no, never, shut up.”

She laughed harder and slapped his arm as he reached to hold the door open for her.  “Baby.” She zipped up her windbreaker as they stepped into the chill wind. “Where you goin’ for lunch?” she asked as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Uh, the dining hall, I guess.” He pulled out his phone. “Why, were you hoping I was makin’ it?”

She moaned. “Don’t even _tease_ me like that, that stuff gave me a third orgasm, I swear. When I get money I’m hirin’ you as my personal chef.” Marco snorted as he opened the text from his brother.

To: Marco  
Okay so whats the max that girls can be mad at you for? I thought it’d be like a week but  
Mon, Nov 3, 11:58 am

He sighed and handed his phone to Sasha. “Answer for me, please.”

She juggled her own phone and his until she could read it, making a gross snarfing noise when she did. “Is the _entire_ Bodt family helpless with women?”

“Absolutely. Why do you think I’m so happy to be gay?”

She laughed, wobbling into his side and hanging onto his arm. “Doesn’t seem to be doin’ much good for ya, though, don’t ya think?” He wrinkled his nose, and she settled down, worming her arm around his. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Marco groaned. “What, are you gonna chew me out for Mina, too?”

She shook her head. “Nah, that ain’t my job. But – you don’t have a facebook, right?”

“Uh- right. What’s that gotta do-”

She sighed and patted his wrist. “You sweet summer child. Let’s find a place for you to sit and I’ll show you.”

“That’s not a good thing, is it?” She just patted his wrist again and led him into the dining hall as she tapped out a reply to Felipe.

To: Felipe  
Dude if they’re still pissed at you you might as well move schools  
Mon, Nov 3, 12:05 pm

To: Marco  
It’s spreading!! Half the girls in the grade are pissed at me now and I dunno how to fix it!  
Mon, Nov 3, 12:06 pm

To: Marco  
Maybe I should just start being into dudes like you  
Mon, Nov 3, 12:07 pm

To: Felipe  
Trust me, even then you’re gonna be fucked little man. Just keep your head down and pray none of them go to college with you  
Mon, Nov 3, 12:09 pm

To: Marco  
Thanks for the pep talk puto really encouraging  
Mon, Nov 3, 12:10 pm

When Marco had his pasta and Sasha had her four slices of pizza, they camped out at a smaller corner table as she opened her laptop between them and unlocked it. “Buckle up, big guy, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “What on earth is going on, Sash?”

She pulled up facebook, straw from her Coke caught in the corner of her mouth. “Y’know how there’s been all those campus rumors about the gay football player?”

His gut churned, and he reached for his pasta. “Sure.”

“Well, somehow your name got attached - it wasn’t me - and facebook is blowin’ _up_.” He froze, pasta hanging from his mouth, as she turned the laptop so he could see as she scrolled through her feed so he could see. Every other status was an opinion on his sexuality, whether it was good, bad, fake, real, overblown or sinful. He forgot he had pasta in his mouth until it fell into his lap. He cursed and picked it off, dropping it on his tray along with his fork. Sasha stopped scrolling and patted his arm.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you use an English curse word,” she said in a small voice. He sat back, making the cheap plastic bend for a second, and snarled both his hands in his hair. “I thought you deserved to know.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Thanks, Sash. I guess.” He inhaled through his nose. Let it out. “How long’s this been goin’ on?”

“All weekend, I’d say.” She frowned at her screen. “I was gonna tell you yesterday, but, well. Stuff.”

“Yeah, all right.” He swirled his fork in his pasta. He wasn’t really hungry anymore. “Why didn’t Con mention something?”

“Dude, he _lives_ on reddit, he only uses facebook for group projects and shit.” She gave him a long look as he stared into his spaghetti. “Y’know, if you wanted, I could be your pretend girlfriend. Just until this all blows over.”

He sighed. “That’s nice of you, Sash, but I’m not sure that would help too much.” He tried to smile. “Besides, what happens when they find out you’re sleeping with my roommate?” She grinned around her straw. “What’re y’all now, anyway?” he asked as he forked pasta in his mouth.

“I’m gonna marry him.” He choked on his laughter, swallowing too quickly. “I’m serious!”

He cleared his throat, eyes watering. “Start small, girl. Start with dating.” She stuck out her tongue at him. “And make sure to tell him because he’s not sure right now.”

She groaned. “ _Men_. Always gotta get shit spelled out for them.” He smiled as he dragged her laptop over, smile fading as he read the feed closer. She tore off a hunk of a pizza slice as she read along.

“It’s like I’m not even human,” he muttered low after a long thread about his position. Sasha caught it and leant into his side.

“You’re a football player, ‘course you’re not.” She wrapped a hand around his elbow. “You’ll always be the same butt to me.”

He sighed, chest tight. “Thanks, Sash.”

* * *

Wednesday’s lab ran long, so it was after eight when Marco’s group finished and Jean slid up by his side, hip against the counter and eyes on his shoes. “You still wanna ride, big guy?”

Marco looked up from his last notes and caught the averted orange. “Sure, why not?”

Jean was quiet on the walk from the lab to his car, hands shoved in his pockets and gaze on the sidewalk. Marco waited until they were pulling out of the lot to ask, “So, what’s up?”

Jean let out a long breath. “Daddy’s coming home this weekend.”

Marco hummed. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Yes? I dunno.” He frowned at the road. “I haven’t seen him since July. He always comes back… different.” He tried to laugh. “I mean, bein’ deployed as a dentist in Europe ain’t hardly like the front lines in raw or somethin’, but he’s just gone so _long_ , it always takes a while to remember who each other is and who they ain’t.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “He’n Momma always pick right back up where they left off, a’course, but I guess that’s why they’re still married after all’a this chain-yankin’ his job does on him.” He sighed, hands sliding to the bottom of the wheel. “It’s gonna be a weird week.”

Marco massaged his leg above his knee. “If you don’t mind me asking.” Jean shot him an orange side eye. “Why don’t y’all live over there? I mean, he’s practically an EU citizen, from what I can tell.”

Jean sighed and massaged his fingers into his temple. “We thought about it when I was little, but when it came down to it, Momma ain’t gonna lose her tenure, and her German’s shit.” He shrugged. “It ain’t the best arrangement, but we’ll get on along ‘til one a’them gives in and retires.” He was quiet and twitchy until the next stop sign, when he groaned and banged his head back into the headrest, eyes clenched shut. “ _God_ , but I ain’t ready for him to be back.” Marco waited as Jean took a few breaths to get himself together, then Jean wrenched the car almost straight into fourth gear as he ripped out of the stop sign. Marco clutched his seat where Jean couldn’t see. “He ain’t a _total_ fucker, but God dammit if he don’t try me sometimes, I swear.” He took the wide curve in the road sharp enough to tilt Marco into the door. “Just ‘cause I ain’t never even _breathed_ about tryin’ for the Army and I needed an extra year to get through my stupid _double major_ and I let my hair grow on out ‘cause I ain’t _baldin’_ yet-”

“Jean.” Marco pointed out the window. “That’s my building.”

“Aw, shit.” The car growled as he downshifted too fast and slammed to a stop by the curb. He scratched the (recently trimmed) line of his undercut. “Sorry, fella. I ain’t never meant to drag you into this, I know you’ve got enough shit on your plate. He just riles me up, y’know?”

“It’s fine.” Marco put his hand on the door, bit his lip. Looked over at Jean, who was scowling at the steering wheel and ignoring the terrible car dealership ad on the radio that he normally switched away from a second in. “You know, now that I’ve only got two classes, I’ve got a lot of free time.” Jean switched his frown to him, orange eyes black in the shadow of the streetlights. “If you wanna keep on drivin’, I’ll keep on listenin’.”

Jean blinked, a smile growing on his face. “You don’t hafta.”

“How many times have you let me talk at you about my problems?” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Least I could do is return the favor.”

Jean huffed and rubbed at his face, grin flashing behind his hand. “I hope you ain’t gonna regret that, big guy.”

“Probably not. You’re fun to listen to.” Jean turned his face away, hand on the back of his hand. “So. He’s balding, huh?”

Jean snorted. “And in ass-deep denial about it.” Jean flipped his bangs from his eyes as he yanked into third and shot up the road out of campus and into town. “I think he’s just jealous.”

Marco barked a laugh. “And who wouldn’t be jealous of the stupidest hair this side of the Mississippi?” Jean gasped and punched Marco’s arm.

“You shut your mouth!” Marco swiped a hand over Jean’s hair (coarse from the bleach), too fast for Jean’s duck. “‘Sides, it used to look _way_ dumber.”

Marco grinned. “Wait, really? _How_? Was it a mullet or somethin’?” Jean hit him again between gear shifts, smiling still.

“What’d you think if I dyed it red?”

“I’d think you’d’ve shucked your human shell and completed your transformation into a walking candlestick.” Jean burst out laughing, swerving a little in the lane – Marco grabbed the wheel steady, catching two of Jean’s fingers, even as he joined in, both of them overpowering the shooting range radio ad for a brief moment. Marco took his hand away, fingertips trailing, to wipe at his eyes. “Seriously, don’t do that, you’d look like Ronald McDonald or somethin’.”

Jean stuck his tongue out at him. “Who’s to say I don’t wanna be a clown, huh? Clowns can do math good, too!” Marco curled in on himself, shoulders shaking with laughter, stomach cramping. Jean shifted gears and sped on into the night.

* * *

Marco and Jean spent an hour or more driving aimlessly through the hills of their quiet college town, talking about anything and everything and laughing more than Marco had in months. They split when Jean started cursing about running out of gas and Marco started yawning, saying goodbye with a slap to the yellow hard top from Marco and an affronted gasp from Jean, who yelled at Marco about abusing his baby all his way to his door. Marco’s good mood lasted all night through the next afternoon, when Armin tricked him into keeping an eye on the IRC group chat. He was starting to think that Sasha wasn’t the most devious mind on campus after all. At least this time he managed to wriggle out of enough responsibility that he got to do it on his own computer in his sweats, growling over the hot chocolate Connie made for him before running away – to the basement or to Sasha, Marco didn’t know or care. The people who came to this chat may be gay or whatever, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be baker’s dozen of bitches who didn’t care that they were the reason Marco’s limited personal life was now campus-wide speculation.

He’d almost ground a layer off his teeth and not gotten nearly as much done on his political science homework as he should’ve when his phone buzzed on his desk across the room and didn’t stop. He scrambled to answer the call, almost crumbling when his knee yelled at him about putting all his weight on it, and didn’t glance at the caller ID before he answered. “Hello?”

“ _Marco! Hey, big guy, how’s it hangin’?_ ”

He frowned and checked the number – not in his contacts, but a local area code – and put the phone back to his ear. “Ymir?”

“ _Heeey! Guess who’s drunk and naked, bitch!_ ”

Marco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you _want_ , Ymir.”

“ _Yeah, so, I need a_ little _favor, ‘cause I’m drunk and naked and at the fake police station._ ” Marco banged his forehead into the metal runner under Connie’s mattress. “ _Can you come pick us up?_ ” He huffed. “ _Oh, yeah, Sasha’s here and naked, too_.” Sasha hollered in the background. Marco closed his eyes against the oncoming headache.

“Look, I don’t wanna know, okay? Just – lemme go fetch Connie and we’ll be right there.”

Marco had managed to avoid the basement entirely all semester. It was his only crowning achievement so far, and he struggled to reach out and open the door at the bottom of the stairwell. Another never show. The lights were off in the hallway, the green exit signs casting the only light. “Con? You there?” Marco called out.

“Marco?” Somebody moved a ways in. “What’re doin’ down here, man?”

Marco sighed and held open the door to let the light in, revealing Connie uncurling from his hiding spot behind a collection of pipes. _Really?_ “Get your head out of the otherworld, men, we gotta go put some clothes on your girlfriend.”

Connie jerked, almost dropping his camera. “ _What?_ ”

“I didn’t ask because I don’t wanna know, but she and my other lab partner got arrested. Probably for general indecency.” Connie stared at him in the scattered fluorescent light. “I tried to warn you about Sasha.”

“Yeah, but on a _Thursday?_ ” Connie laughed as Marco stepped to the side so he could pass him to the stairs. “She’s freakin’ crazy, dude. I love her.”

“Good, ‘cause she’s gonna marry you.” Connie stumbled on a step and nearly broke his camera again before Marco caught his arm. “Easy, boy.”

“She’s gonna _what?_ ” Connie squeaked. Marco laughed.

“I told ya, this girl gets what she wants. Now let’s go, I need to figure out what clothes I don’t mind losing to the vultures.”

They got to what passed as the campus police station (a corner of the parking deck) about half an hour after Ymir’s call, after midnight, and Marco had a headache already. He sighed when Connie parked the car and yanked off his seatbelt. “Let’s get this over with.”

The drunk tank of campus PD was barely more than a closet with a window. The officer on duty escorted the boys back, laughing about how at least she didn’t have a dull shift tonight. Connie laughed with her and cracked jokes back, but Marco was tired and grouchy so he sulked a few steps behind.

The two drunk assholes themselves were shooting rubber bands across the drunk tank at each other, draped in police raincoats and nothing else. Great. The nice lady cop let the boys in just in time for Marco to get hit in the face with a rubber band. He blinked as the girls laughed, the cop scolding them like preschoolers. He would’ve strangled them if he was alone.

But he wasn’t, so he let them swarm at him in their drunken glee as he and Connie wrangled them into the spare shirts they’d brought, lady parts Marco had never planned to see flashing him with every wiggle. Connie was stammering, the lady cop was struggling to keep it together, and Marco was at the frayed ends of his patience. Drunk girls were slippery.

When they _finally_ got Marco’s overlarge shirts over their heads and the lady cop showed them the way out, humor tinging her every direction, Marco was practically carrying Ymir and Sasha was koala-draped over Connie. Ymir was sliding from happy to sleepy drunk in Marco’s arms – he could only hope that she stayed awake long enough for them to get her home and foist her off on whoever she lived with. But he wasn’t holding his breath.

Sasha refused to let Connie go, so they had to dance around to hand off the keys to Marco. He dumped Ymir in the backseat with the newly-formed conjoined twins, already snoring her face off. Marco had to slide the driver’s seat back about a foot before he could even get in, still crammed up against the steering wheel – he hadn’t even _driven_ a car since Charleston.

When he got adjusted enough that he wouldn’t hit the horn with every breath, Ymir was drooling against the window. He adjusted the rearview mirror off of her and onto Sasha and Connie, his hand against her face to hold her back from making out with him. “Hey, Sash, you know where Ymir’s dorm is?”

She mouthed at Connie’s thumb. He put some elbowgrease into his repelling efforts. “S’where that way,” she mumbled with a wave out of the parking lot. Marco sighed and banged his forehead into the steering wheel. Great. It was almost one in the morning, he had two drunk, barely-clothed girls in the backseat, he had no context of where they’d come from or why they were naked, and he had no idea where to take them. _Why him?_

Connie slapped his headrest. “Hey man, I know where Sasha’s dorm is, at least.” He wriggled away from her mouth again. “I can take her there and settle her down and stuff- _Sasha!_ ”

Marco frowned, options clicking around in his head like a combination lock. “Does she have a roommate?”

“Yeah, she’s totally crazy but she’s, like, never there. Why?”

Marco rolled his forehead side to side on the steering wheel. “Think she’d mind if Ymir slept in her bed, or is that too much?”

“I dunno, depends on if she’s in it – _eep!_ Sasha! Quit it!”

Marco took one more breath before sitting up and turning the car on. “Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen.” He yanked the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot. “You’re gonna take Sasha home, and if her roommate’s out, Ymir is gonna crash there. f she ain’t, you’re stayin’ with Sasha and Ymir will come back to your bed. Sound doable?”

Connie groaned, but nodded when Marco cut his eyes at him in the rearview mirror. “It’s gonna be painful, but I guess it’s the only thing to do besides dump them on the sidewalk.”

“Which I’m not above doing if they throw up in here.” Connie pulled a face.

“Dude, it’s _my_ car.”

“Yeah, but I’m driving.” Marco swung on the turn out of the lot, making the backseat sway.

“Well you better do that shit better if you wanna keep the car puke-free.”

“Can it, puto, it’s been a while.” He took another breath. “So where’s her dorm?”

Marco parked outside the building and watched while Connie dragged Sasha to the door. Stopped. Oh no.

When they turned around and came back towards the car, Marco groaned and slouched in the seat. Of _course_ they couldn’t get in – where would Sasha have even been _keeping_ her keys? He shuddered at the thought, and pressed to his mouth. He swallowed down his gag reflex and set his mental options wheel clicking again. He could call Eren and see if the pullout was free, but he would hate to infringe _too_ much on their hospitality. Plus, Eren slept like a dead chicken caught in a trap, so if he was already asleep, that call had a snowball’s chance in hell of going through. Looking out the window at the struggling couple, Marco could tell it was only a matter of minutes until Connie was as useless as Sasha. He had to act fast if he was ever going to sleep again.

Sasha and Connie burst into the backseat in a burst of cold air and laughter. Connie explained what Marco had already figured out - that they were locked out of the building with no way to contact anyone inside – through the white noise of Sasha’s hiccupy giggles. Marco ground the heels of his hands into his temples. He just wanted his _bed._

“Hey, Marco, if you want, you can take Ymir and head on back,” Connie said, leaning as close as his personal monkey would let him. “Sasha and I can find our own way for a few hours.”

Marco raised an eyebrow in the rearview mirror, grin lilting. “You sure?”

“Yeah!” Connie coughed away the crack in his voice. “If nothin’ else, we can just camp out here, this seat ain’t that bad for sleepin’ on.”

On a better day, Marco would’ve pressed the issue. But it wasn’t a day, it was a night, and he was done. He sighed and turned the car around back to his bed.

Ymir hadn’t stopped snorfling since she’d fallen asleep, twitching like a dreaming dog against the car door. Marco found a spot in the back of their dorm’s parking lot; Connie grabbed a handful of Ymir’s shirt to keep her from spilling out onto the asphalt when Marco opened the door. Marco slung her over his shoulder – she was lighter than she looked – and gave Connie his keys with a nod as Connie grinned and snapped the door closed. Animals.

He hefted Ymir on his shoulder and headed inside. Just… why.

* * *

It was Friday morning of the twelfth week of the fall semester, and Marco was _sorely_ tempted to leave for office hours without waking Ymir. He’d showered, dressed, and gathered his stuff for the day without her doing more than honking out a snore. Like she’d done all night. She was lucky he wasn’t a light sleeper.

But, when it came down to it, he couldn’t help but cringe at what it’d be like to wake up alone and basically naked in a room you’d only been in once, so before he could make the final step out the door, he stood on his desk chair and shook her thin shoulder.

“Hey, Ymir. Wake up, puta.”

She moaned but rolled over, tangled in Connie’s sheets, and cracked caked eyes at him. Sneered. “ _Marco?_ ”

“Yeah, great to see you, too. He crossed his arms on the edge of the mattress. “You and Sash are a dangerous pair.”

She groaned, slapping her hands to her face. “Oh my God, that was _real_.” She buried her face in Connie’s pillow, a muffled “ _Kill me_ ” bleeding out. Marco chuckled.

“Well, I never thought I’d see your – well, you know what. But I guess I can cross that off the list.” She yanked the blankets over her head. He patted… some part of her back. “I was just leaving for the day, and I didn’t want you breaking anything when you woke up, is all.” She whined. “Take as much time as you need, baby. Sasha’s probably gonna keep Connie locked in her closet forever now, and I’ll be out until this afternoon. You can borrow some pants of mine when you leave, just wash ‘em before you give ‘em back.” One of the lumps nodded. “Do you remember where the bathroom is?” Another nod. “Need anything else?”

The blankets flipped back enough for four dreads and an eye to peer through. “Water?” she croaked. Marco huffed and jumped down, digging in his pile of water bottles for an old one to fill up from the bathroom sink.

When Ymir was nursing that like formula (and had a trashcan like a teddy bear), he said goodbye and headed off to office hours again, twenty minutes late and already exhausted.

Which is why he had to use the door for support when he was barely through the door to the Lindsay room, helpless with teary laughter at the first sight of Jean’s hair.

Jean came over and kicked his ankle. “Shaddup, motherfucker, it ain’t _that_ funny!”

Marco gasped, stomach hurting, and had to feel for himself, ruffling Jean’s hair with both hands. The crazy kid hadn’t dyed it red like he promised, but _streaked_ it red, dozens of little bits radiating out from his whorl, garish as the sunburst Japanese flag, red on bleach. “Oh, man,” he gasped, grasping the sides of Jean’s face. “You’re _wonderful_.”

“Oh.” Jean’s ears burned under Marco’s palms, his pink cheeks barely a foot away from Marco’s. “Well, thank you, I guess?”

Marco tilted Jean’s head down to look at it from the top, still laughing. “Jesucristo, what a mess! It’s like a bag of cherries exploded on your head!”  Marco let him go to wipe at his eyes. Jean backed away and shook his hair flat again. “Sorry, I just had a long, stupid night.” He glanced at The Hair again and snorted. “And _that_ is absolutely ridiculous.”

Jean grinned. “I know, right?” He finger combed his hair while Marco tried to control his breathing, hypnotized by the play of color. “Took me freakin’ all _night_ to do it, but man was it worth it for the look on Momma’s face in the mornin’.” He winked at Marco. “And you, of course.”

“Ugh, don’t _talk_ about last night.” Marco slipped by to fall into a chair, dumping his backpack on the floor and his head on his arms. “I don’t ever wanna think ‘bout that again.”

Jean laughed and sat next to him, denim rustles. “A’ight, if you insist.” He sat back, chair groaning, while Marco moaned into his sleeves. When Marco collected himself and looked up, Jean grinned and slid a coffee cup across the table to him. Marco took off the top to add some creamer from his backpack cache - but it was already the perfect color. He raised an eyebrow at Jean, who shrugged and kicked back with his own coffee. Marco replaced the top and sat up straight to sip it.

Jean propped his teeth on the edge of his thermos lid. “So, how’s that big gay crush on Franz goin’, big guy?”

Marco coughed on his coffee, only keeping it from spraying out because of his football reflexes. Jean cackled while Marco hacked up a lung, wheezing out, “Who _told_ you?”

“Ain’t I ever told ya I know people? Word travels like the devil ‘round here, sweetheart.” Jean scratched the line of his undercut. “‘Sides, you’d hafta be blind _and_ deaf not to catch a flame for Franz.” Jean shook his hair into his eyes and grinned. “Took me a whole month to shake mine back when I first met’im.”

Marco swallowed on the last traces of liquid in his throat. ‘So - like, I know you think _I’m_ pretty, but…”

Jean huffed a laugh, crossing his ankles on the table, blue flashing. “I guess we ain’t had this conversation yet, huh?” He gulped his coffee. “It took me a while to get around to figurin’ it all out, but I’m what you can call pan.”

Marco stared, forehead furrowed. “I- I’m not sure I know that one.”

Jean laughed. “What it comes down to is I ain’t gonna care what you got goin’ on down there-” he gestured vaguely under the table- “as long as you’re sexy up here.” He rapped a knuckle on his own head. “What about you, big guy?”

“Girls are gross.” Marco snarled his hands in his hair, trying to squeeze out the memories of last night like orange juice. “Girls are so, _so_ gross.”

Jean broke into laughter, sliding down in his chair and wiping at his face with his sleeve. “Oh, you’re gonna kill me one of these days, Mar.”

Marco grinned. “Says the guy who striped his hair with cherry juice.”

Jean snorted. “Fuck you, now I’m gonna have that damn song stuck in my head all day.” He bobbed his head, singing, “Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch- _cherry bomb!_ ”

“Oh my God.” Marco rubbed at his face, eyes still wet from his earlier breakdown. “Stop that, please, I can’t take it.” Jean threw his multicolored head back, laughing, and serenaded Marco with Joan Jett until their coffee was long cold.


	10. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: These chapters are getting harder to write because I keep making myself write things I'm not good at, like fighting and flirting. But I'm in love with this story. Also, I track the tumblr tag 'fic: undercurrent' as well as my URL, so please tag it/me in things when you talk about me :D And Y'ALL: talk to me!! I love talking to readers and am friendly and approachable and shit!!  
> Some Links:  
> [Redshirts (athletics)](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Redshirt_%28college_sports%29) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [Jean+Marco fancy art](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com>tumblr</a>%20<a%20href=) [some fic cover designs I did for myself](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/post/116969174446)}

It was Sunday early morning of the thirteenth week of the fall semester, and Marco would’ve sworn on his family’s cookbook last night that he was over his first-time flare of attraction to Franz. But here he was, sun still low on the horizon, sitting in the passenger seat of Franz’s car on the way to visit the partner vineyard of his new major, skin tight as Franz talked on about the family who owned the place, peppering his speech with wide smiles and shoulder taps. When Marco’s phone vibrated in his fumbling hands, he jumped in his seat and mistyped his passcode three times before he could open the text.

To: Butt Bitch  
Hey so k’s making me apologize for the streaking incident  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:21 am

To: Ymir  
Sash already groveled all day yesterday but I wouldn’t mind more  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:22 am

To: Butt Bitch  
Yeah well im the one that called u  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:23 am

To: Butt Bitch  
Mostly bc urs is the only no i have memorized besides k but still  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:23 am

To: Ymir  
You have my number memorized? I’m touched  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:24 am

To: Butt Bitch  
Shut up its a cool ass no with a weird ass area code  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:25 am

To: Butt Bitch  
Sash told u what went down right?  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:25 am

To: Ymir  
A bad game of beer pong, house rules, and too much tequila  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:27 am

To: Butt Bitch  
Tequila does make my clothes fall off  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:28 am

To: Butt Bitch  
Neway thx for bein a bro abt the whole thing  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:29 am

“Ah! When is your birthday, my friend?”

“What?” Marco yanked his attention away from Ymir’s half-hearted apology. “Uh, June - why?”

Franz beamed. “And you will be twenty-one, yes?” Marco nodded. Franz’s big nose wrinkled. “I do not care for these silly old laws of your country, but the school does, and it is always more fun when you can enjoy the fruits of your work.” Franz tapped Marco’s arm with the side of his fist. “Maybe you will be getting to spend that day with us here, yes?”

Marco tugged at the hair behind his ear. His parents hadn’t been too happy when he told them about his dramatic major shift, and that it would require being in school for the summer if he wanted to graduate on time. He was still in the long-distance doghouse with his Mami, although Dad saw reason quicker. But then _Dad_ was mad at him for dropping two courses because he was failing and only having a six-hour semester - well, calls home were fun. But Franz didn’t need to know all that. “Yeah, should be great.”

“Oh, come now, it won’t be a _total_ end to your world. After all, our friend with the terrible choices in hair will be here.”

Marco froze, twist of a curl caught around his fingers. Jean in the summer? He’d never really thought about it - what was life going to be once physics lab wrapped up and Jean wasn’t his TA anymore? Jean was probably a lobster in June. Maybe-

Marco’s phone vibrated in his hand, shaking him off _that_ train of thought. Franz hummed along with the radio as Marco swiped it awake.

To: Butt Bitch  
Ur not like actually pissed at me right?  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:34 am

To: Ymir  
No more than normal. Go back to sleep puta  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:34 am

To: Butt Bitch  
Aye aye capn  
Sun, Nov 9, 8:35 am

* * *

Marco and Annie had exchanged numbers after their spontaneous two hour dinner date, but he hadn’t heard anything from her since until she texted him on Tuesday morning out of the swirling overcast sky.

To: Marco  
When are you free today  
Tues, Nov 11, 9:39 am

To: Annie  
Um before 12 and between 1 and 3? Why  
Tues, Nov 11, 9:41 am

To: Marco  
Can you be at the student union in 30  
Tues, Nov 11, 9:43 am

To: Annie  
I guess if you’re not gonna tell me why  
Tues, Nov 11, 9:44 am

To: Marco  
You’ll know when you get there. Ill be by the windows  
Tues, Nov 9:45 am

Twenty-five minutes later, Marco rounded a corner in the student union and saw Annie across the room, sitting on a couch and talking to Mina over coffee. And there went any shot at a good mood today. Annie’s sharp eyes caught him before he could run and waved him over. Mina looked up and grimaced, making to stand and run. Annie caught her sweater hem and yanked her back down.

“Not so fast, little lady,” Marco heard Annie saying when he got close enough. He held back his smile when Mina pouted and flopped back down on the couch, as he took the armchair across from them and kicked his feet up on the lower table between them, lacing his fingers over his stomach. He raised an eyebrow at Annie.

“You’re a little bitch, you know that?”

“It’s been said,” Annie replied before Mina’s indignant squawk could escape her gaping mouth. “I knew you two were never gonna settle this on your own, so I thought I’d make y’all get it over with.” Annie frowned at Mina. “Don’t you want to start, _pledge_?”

“Are you _serious?_ ” Mina squeaked, clutching her coffee like her ticket out of there. Annie glared, but Marco sat back in the chair, arms crossed.

“I’m with her on this one,” he bit out, jerking his chin at Mina. “What on Earth makes you think you can fix this with an _apology?_ ” He pinched the bridge of his nose – _breathe_. “Look, I know you mean well, Ann, but I _really_ don’t need this.” He made to stand, but Mina beat him this time and shoved to her feet, banging her coffee cup on the table.

“ _Me_ apologize to _you?_ ” She clenched her fists at her sides, scowling up at him from across the table. “You were the one who strung me on!”

“ _Strung_ you _on?_ _You’re_ the one who can’t take a hint!”

“Sit down, Christ,” Annie said from her seat on the couch, knife-gaze sliding at them. “You’re making a scene.” Mina huffed and fell back on the couch, crossing her arms and her legs. Annie stared at Marco over her coffee until he sat back down as well, jaw set. “I’m not saying y’all have to be friends. I’m not even saying you have to be _friendly_. But clear the air, or you’ll find out what I’m like when I’m angry.”

Marco curled his lip, but when he glanced at Mina, who’d curled in on herself and was glaring at the carpet, he sighed. “ _Fine._ ” When she didn’t look up at his tone or for thirty seconds after, he groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Look, leading you on or whatever was never my intention.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Once I figured out what was going on I _tried_ to tell you, but-” He ran his hand through his hair, huffing. “I’m sorry, you’re probably a nice girl, but I just…” He flopped back to glare at the distant skylights. “Annie, I hate you.”

Annie barely laughed. “That’s a start.” Marco growled, too low for them to hear. “Your turn, pledge.”

“I hate you, too, if that’s what you mean.” Marco had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling. Mina fell quiet, though, for long enough Marco lifted his head in time to catch her thumbing a tear away. Mierda. “I still think you’re a douchebag.” She sniffed and pulled the cuff of her sweater down over her hand to wipe at her nose. “But I guess I got a little carried away.”

“You _guess?_ ” Mina locked up on them, eyes stuck to the ground, wiping at her dripping face silently. “I’ve told you before that I’ve got a little sister and that doesn’t work on me.”

She glowered at him through falling air and red rims around her eyes. “I don’t _care_ , jackass.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, staring at her boots, jaw set. Marco waited for a full minute, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, mood boiling in his stomach. Annie raised a long eyebrow at both of them – well, how did she _think_ this would go?

“Well.” He stood, slinging his backpack on his shoulder. “I’m glad we had this talk.”

“Marco-”

He cut off Annie with a swipe of his hand. “I don’t need anyone else butting in on my life, okay? I’ve got enough to deal with as it is.” He banged into the table in his haste to get out - his bad leg. He jerked, but he stayed up even as they both reached on instinct. His ears burned, but he scowled through it. “Don’t talk to me again,” he threw over his shoulder, not bother to clarify who as he limped away, frowning at anyone who dared glance at him.

* * *

As the rumor about his sexuality spread, Marco braced himself for the retaliation from his team. It _was_ a football team in a state that barely let gay people buy lunch, after all. Time wore on, though, one cold practice bleeding into the next, Marco on edge during every locker room exchange – nothing. The other shoe hung in the sweaty air, suspended.

At the end of Wednesday practice, Marco and the wide receiver with the Captain America tattoo were talking about the Western Carolina game coming up on Saturday. Western Carolina hadn’t been good enough to beat them in a decade, but it was their historic rival, so the game was still a big deal on campus – and the wide receiver’s on-and-off boyfriend was coming down from DC for it. The wide receiver (whose name was Al) was too easy to like for Marco to hold a grudge against for long, and it was fun to listen to him complain about his boyfriend in the same tone as most of the team whined about their girlfriends.

“He’s always bitching about how I never call, but we text _all_ the time, so what’s the problem? Talking is talking, right?” Marco raised an eyebrow over a shrug as he propped a foot up on the ledge in his locker to tie his shoe. Al sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. “Whatever, I guess.” Al tugged a clean shirt on over his head, the din of the team drowning out their moment of silence. “You should meet ‘im when he comes into town.”

Marco glanced up from his laces. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, dude. He’s always bitchin’ about how he never meets my friends, and you already know about him, so step one, right?”

Marco chuckled, hair falling in his eyes. “Yeah, okay, why not.” Al beamed and clapped his shoulder, and – what in the hell was going on across the locker room?

Al and Marco looked back at the growing commotion revolving around two redshirts and one of Marco’s fellow running backs, Luke. They were too far away to make out words, but there were bitches and whores involved. Which would’ve been just another Wednesday, but they all kept gesturing in Marco’s direction.

“You didn’t find a hooker in this town, did ya?” Al asked, low. Marco huffed.

“Sadly, no.” More heads turned as another running back stepped up. Marco finished typing his shoe and wandered over, trying to ignore the burning of a dozen sets of eyes on him as he neared. The calmer redshirt gripped the back of the smaller, angrier one, whose red face was a foot away from spitting in Luke’s face.

“Ben, back off,” the calmer one said, tugging him back by the shirt. Ben shrugged him off, teeth bared.

“Why should I?” Ben’s mouth twisted. “Hey, you think if I break my leg they’ll make me a captain?”

Marco stopped a few steps back and crossed his arms. “You know, it’s not polite to talk behind someone’s back.” The redshirts spun around, and Marco had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling. “Hey there.”

“Speak of the Devil and he shall appear,” Ben mumbled. Marco raised his eyebrows as Luke clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

“You better watch your mouth, little britches.” Marco snorted.

“You know what? I’m sick to death of dancing around this.” He plopped on the end of a bench, hands braced on his knees, and glared at Ben. “All right, so I’m gay. Whatever. I ain’t gettin’ any more than you are, so we’ll call it even.” A few laughs from the peanut gallery as Ben’s face contorted. Marco glanced around at the faces – a few averted, but no shock. He’d think about that later.“If anyone’s got a problem with that, they can come to me whenever they want. I’ve been needing to hit something for a while now.” He gave it a moment of strange silence before he slapped his knees and stood. “All right, then. I’ve got class, so see y’all tomorrow.” He shouldered his way out of the loose circle, which dispersed when he broke it and went back to their old habits, the redshirts getting nasty looks from their neighbors. Luke followed Marco back to his locker.

“Hey, man, I totally had your back there, you know,” he said, brushing his dreads out of his face and back into their usual topknot when they weren’t under a helmet. Marco smiled.

“Thanks, but I can handle myself.” He slung his bag over his shoulder. “You’re not weirded out or whatever?”

Luke shook his head. “Nah, man, that’s your shit, not mine.” He dallied; Marco gave him a look. Luke bit his lip and leant in closer to whisper, “My first crush was on a guy, so.”

Marco smiled, lopsided. “Is this gonna be a thing?” Luke cocked his head, but Marco waved it off. “Never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow, man.” Luke smiled and gave a wave as he went back to his locker, Marco shaking his head at the carpet as he left.

He was in a weird mood all the way across campus to his lab, caught between giddy, frustrated, upset, and bitter. What the hell was _that?_

He got to lab after Jean and heard the laughter from the service elevator door (his knee still hated stairs). A smile tugged at his mouth as he stepped in the open door, the weird bubble in his chest disintegrating. He’d forgotten about The Hair.

Jean turned and grinned at him, orange flannel shirt clashing with bleach and cherry red. “Hey there, big guy!” Marco raised an eyebrow at him. “These assholes are _laughin’_ at me, can you believe it?”

Marco chuckled and ruffled The Hair as he passed. “‘Course I can, cherry-bomb.”

Jean stuck his tongue out at him, face pink. “Fine, then, I ain’t givin’ y’all’s tests back until _after_ y’all’ve finished the lab!” Groans mixed in with the laughs. “Nope, the big guy here had a chance to save and an’ he blew it.”  A few people booed at Marco, too, still laughing. Ymir blew a raspberry at him as he sat down. She threw a paper ball at his head, which he caught on reflex. She sneered harder. Jean clapped his hands twice, hair still stuck up from Marco’s hand. “Come on now, y’all, the faster y’all get fixin’ to workin’, the quicker y’all can see how much stuff y’all failed!” There were moans and paper shuffles, but the room got to work. Jean shook his hair out of the tangle Marco had made.

The lab lasted longer than normal because Jean kept interrupting as labs were finished, tests were returned, and questions were asked. It was after eight thirty when Marco’s team finished last and Jean tossed their tests on the table, leaning a hip on the counter by Marco.

“Hey, big guy, sorry, but I can’t take you home today,” he said low as he shoved a few unclaimed tests back in his messenger bag. “Daddy’s makin’ us do sit-down dinners while he’s stateside and he’s already fit to be tied, I’m sure.” Marco flipped over his face-down test – a blue ‘87’ was circled at the top, a red smiley face that matched the marks on Sasha and Ymir’s tests next to it. A gold bubble in his chest popped. “You gonna be all right gettin’ yourself home alone?”

“Yeah.” He smiled into Jean’s bright hazel eyes. “Yeah, I think I should be fine.”

* * *

Thursday was the first sight of a sun in a week, so even though it was still chilly and windy, campus was outside, soaking up the meager rays through flannel and fleece. Armin had his table set up outside the dining hall again, although he’d seemed to have listened to Marco and had a few less gradients on his posterboard. He waved as Marco approached the dining hall doors, and Marco smiled back and came over.

“Hey there, chicken little.” Marco leant a hip on the folding table, arms crossed. “How’s the recruiting going?”

Armin shrugged, shoving his red hands in his coat pockets. “Usual.” He’d gotten a haircut since Marco had last seen him, his now chin-length hair held back in a half-ponytail. “Haven’t seen you in the group chat lately.”

Marco winced. “No offense, but the group chat is a pile of dicks.”

Armin laughed, eyes squinting shut. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He nudged Marco with his elbow, nose wrinkled. “Sorry your idea sucks.”

Marco chuckled, nudging him back. “Not your fault.” They talked for a few minutes about the weather until someone passing by screamed and ran over to attack Armin with a hug. Armin grinned and bore it, patting the arm wrapped around his neck.

“Hi, Andy. Nice to see you, too.” Andy hummed and squished their cheeks together for a hot second before releasing Armin and bouncing in place.

“Oh my God, Armin, I _love_ your new hair!” They ran a hand over it before Armin could jerk away. “It looks _so_ sexy on you!”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” Marco crossed his arms, a half-smile on his face when Armin glanced at him for an escape. “Oh! Andy, this is Marco, he’s – a friend.” Marco smiled in full and flicked his fingers in a greeting. “Andy’s my treasurer.”

“Ah.” Marco ducked his head in a nod. “Good to meet you.”

“Good to meet _you_.” He gave Marco a once-over and cut his eyes at Armin – Marco blinked. Huh? Before Marco could react, though, Andy gasped, fingers pressed to his mouth. “Oh my God.” His wrist flipped to point the fingers at Marco. “Are you the gay football player?” Armin backslapped his arm as Marco’s smile grew forced. Andy glared at Armin. “What?”

“ _Rude_ , Andy.” Armin shot Marco an apologetic look, but Marco shook it off.

“No, it’s okay, but yes, I guess I am?”

Andy beamed and gave Marco another weird once-over that made Marco’s skin crawl and waggled his eyebrows at Armin, who shoved him hard enough to knock him sideways a few steps, almost banging into someone passing by. Andy laughed it off, shoving him back lighter, winking at Marco. “You were _totally_ the man on the team I wanted it to be, hot stuff.”

Marco felt a laugh in his throat and coughed it out. “Oh, well, that’s – that’s sure something.” Marco scratched his nose. “Anyway, so, I need to eat before class, so-”

Armin waved him off, holding back Andy from following with a white-knuckled grip at his elbow. “G’on, git outta here, I’ll see you later!” Marco backed off with a wave and ran away into the safety of the dining hall, where, if he was lucky, no one would talk to him or look at him or recognize him in any way.

* * *

It was Friday morning of the thirteenth week of the fall semester, and Marco had been in a mild case of shock for almost twenty hours, staring blankly at the conference table in front of him.

“Someone hit on me yesterday.”

Jean’s eyes snapped up from glaring new heat in his coffee, orange eyes tinted behind blue-framed glasses. “Well now, bless your little heart, ain’t you just the saddest story this side of the Mississippi?”

Marco paused in the act of taking the top off his coffee to check the cream. “Wow, what crawled up _your_ ass and died?”

Jean sighed, rubbing at his forehead and knocking his glasses askew. “Sorry, Daddy’s been ridin’ my ass the whole time he’s been home, and it always makes me bitchy to people who ain’t never done a thing to deserve it.” He straightened his glasses so he could look over the top of them at Marco, and there was a good chance he was going to die at this table today. “But, like, don’t you just call a day when someone makes a move on you ‘Thursday’?”

Marco bit his cheek. “Well, this time it was a guy.” Jean raised a shoulder and an eyebrow. “That – that doesn’t normally happen to me.”

Jean let out the ugliest snorting laughter Marco had ever heard, knees banging on the table as he curled in on himself, red face hidden behind his coffee thermos. He glanced up at Marco’s face – snorted again. “Hell, are you fuckin’ _serious?_ ”

Marco opened his mouth to retort, lid caught half off the rim. Jean’s eyes crinkled behind his glasses, pierced ears almost the same color as the streaks in his hair. Marco coughed and re-secured the lid without checking the color, gulping it back until his tongue felt as hot as his cheeks. Perfect.

“Well, uh,” he said when he thought he could speak without his voice cracking. “Not that I could tell, I guess?”

Jean barked a final laugh, grinning, sitting up with a hair flick and a push of his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I ain’t never gonna get over you, big guy.”

Marco ducked his head away from all _that_ , scratching the back of his head. “Well, that’s- uh.” He rubbed at the tendon connecting his neck and shoulder. “Tell me what’s up with your dad?”

Jean groaned and shoved his glasses on top of his head, launching into the injustices of a dress code and computer curfews while Marco watched, chewing the brim of his coffee lid to shreds.


	11. Spills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: There is a lot of Ymir and Eren in this chapter. I still track the tumblr tag 'fic: undercurrent' and my URL for ease of contact. Thanks to iris for translating!  
> Some Links:  
> [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [art NOT DONE BY ME!! :D](http://rainbowtaileddinosaur.tumblr.com/post/118118710801/so-i-finally-finished-catching-up-with)}

It was Monday evening of the fourteenth week of the fall semester, and Marco was almost asleep over a political science paper when his brother called. He jerked to attention and just caught the call before the ringer ran out, rolling over in his bed to stare at the ceiling, feet on his pillow.

“Hola, Feli.”

“ _Hola puto_.” A giggle. “ _Crissy’s here._ ”

“Oh?” Marco smiled at the stucco dots on the ceiling. “Hola, Crissy.”

“ _Hey there, hermanito._ ” Sheets rustled on the other end. “ _Feli’s got a girlfriend!_ ”

Marco sat up with a start, making Connie jump at his desk. “ _What?_ ” Christy cackled while Felipe sputtered, talking over each other until Marco snapped, “Shut up!” He rubbed his temple. “Feli, go.”

“ _I want to start this by saying it was his idea._ ” Marco raised an eyebrow at his feet and a curious Connie beyond them. “ _And he’s not my boyfriend! No en realidad._ ”

“O-kay.” Marco slid back on his bed to sit against the slats of the frame. “Does he live in Canada, too?”

“ _Smartass. It’s Cortez - Martin Cortez, the stopper on my team? ¿Su hermana Amy iba contigo en la escuela?_ ”

Marco frowned. “The skinny one?”

“ _Everyone’s skinny to you, fatass._ Ow!” The rustles and bangs of a scuffle fed Marco an earful of static. He held the phone away from him as they fought, rolling his eyes at a still curious Connie.

“Siblings.” Connie raised his eyebrows with a nod and went back to his video editing, snapping his noise-cancelling headphones on. Marco put the phone back to his ear as the fighting simmered to a growl from Felipe. “Finished?”

“ _Yep, and I won_ ,” Christy said. Felipe grumbled and took the phone back.

“ _It was_ Cortez’s _idea,_ ” he shoved out, sounding squashed. Christy was probably lying on top of him - it was her favorite tactic. “ _I was bitching to him about the whole thing the other day after practice and how i should just be gay como tú and he wanted to piss off his stupid stepdad and so it’s_ his _stupid idea, not mine!_ ” Marco bit his lip. “ _Stop fucking laughing!_ ”

Marco chuckled along with Christy’s background giggles. His free hand twirled some hair around his fingers. “What am I going to do with you, Feli?”

“ _Fuck you, puto – Chrissy, let_ go, _jesucristo-_ ”

“ _Hey Mar! Did you know this means that Feli got a boyfriend_ before _you? I bet you feel super cool right now, huh?_ ”

Marco switched ears and held up the phone with his shoulder so he could weave the hair he’d been playing with into a braid. “Thanks for the reminder, Chrissy. Appreciate it.”

Felipe was grumbling in the background, but they were both used to ignoring him. Christy pouted, whining into the phone. “ _Aw, come on, really? You haven’t found some big strong man to sweep you off your feet? ¿_ Super _fuerte?_ ”

Marco rubbed the heel of his hands into his eyes, his braid down to a few hairs in his fingertips. He abandoned it and started a new one. “ _No_ , Chrissy, te lo he dicho antes I’m not exactly out on the prowl up here.” Jean probably couldn’t even lift his heels off the ground – he ruffled his hair, shaking the braids loose. “Nope, nadie.”

Christy whined harder, but it faded as Felipe stole the phone back. “ _Oh, Marco, there actually was a reason we called you._ ” Marco raised an eyebrow at his socks. “ _I told Mami and Dad. Sobre Cortez._ ”

Marco blinked. “What.”

“ _It just sort of… slipped out, because Mami heard a rumor on the street and it just – yeah_.” Marco straightened his neck, hand tight on his phone. “ _They were a lot madder about the fake part than the boyfriend part, really. Didn’t want me to hurt his feelings and shit._ ” Felipe cleared his throat. “ _I mean, Mami asked if it was a phase and stuff like that, but like, I think-”_ a whap- “we _think you should talk to them. Pronto.”_

Marco pulled his good knee up to his chest to hug his leg, staring vacantly at a hole in his comforter. “Oh.”

“ _They won’t kill you, hermanito_ ,” Christy said. “ _We won’t let them._ ”

“ _And I don’t think you give them enough credit._ ” Marco narrowed his eyes at Felipe’s tone. “ _You really think_ Dad _’s gonna turn you out? Get real._ ”

“I know, I know.” Marco swallowed on the burn behind his breastbone, fingers tingling. “Can’t it – wait, a little bit? I’ve just been through this whole mess up here, and – I came out to the _team_ , and-” He sighed. “Navidad. Can I do it at Christmas?”

“ _Holding you to that, hermanito_ ,” Felipe said.

Christy whined. “ _Are you_ sure _you don’t have_ anything _going on up there?_ ” Connie took off his headphones to stand up and dig around in one of the plastic containers still shoved under Marco’s bed, humming a Bruno Mars song off-key. Marco sighed, twisting his hair again.

“ _No_ , there are no very strong men ready to sweep me off my feet up here, Chrissy,” Marco said, rolling his eyes again for Connie’s sake, who grinned with a lot of eyebrow.

“What about that TA? Sasha never shuts up about how much y’all flirt in class.”

Marco hissed at him, but Christy caught enough to gasp and trip over her tongue to learn more, Felipe grumbling all the while as Marco threw a balled-up old sock at Connie’s head and tried to field her rabid questions in the least divulging manner possible.

* * *

Early mornings at the campus gym were always busy, since it was the best time to avoid classes and the torture of being sore before or after practice, and just a good start to a day. Marco usually went on the weekends or late in the evening, though, so he could avoid talking to people – he preferred working out alone – but sometimes his schedule fell that he had to go during peak hours. It happened again on Tuesday, another forty degree day in a string of almost-freezing suns. Before Marco could even take off his hat or unzip his jacket, Ymir was coming his way, passing around the front desk on her way out with a basketball under her arm and face shining with sweat. She met him in the middle of the lobby with a grin and a punch.

“Hey, Butt! How you been doin’?” She rolled the basketball up her forearm, back down to flick it at him four feet away. He caught it with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Really?”

She winked. “Always gotta keep you on your toes, boy.” They stepped aside to let a knot of baseball players by (Marco’s old roommate not among them). “Too bad you didn’t show up an hour ago or I could’ve seen what those hands can _really_ do.”

Marco huffed and passed the ball back. “I told you, my sister’s the basketball player, not me.”

Ymir cracked a smiled, crooked teeth making it wonky as she passed the ball back. “I can’t imagine you’re bad at _any_ sport, big guy.”

He spun the ball around on a palm. “Soccer. I’m hopeless with a ball on the ground.” She barked a laugh as he tried to slam the ball into her stomach, but she was too quick for him. “My brother loves it.”

“What, soccer, or that you’re bad at it?”

Marco grinned as he caught the ball about to slam into his chest. “Both.”

Ymir cocked her head with a lilting grin as she considered him, catching his return pass without looking. “Y’know what, fuck stats, I’ve been dyin’ to know what kind of bitch you shoot like since I first saw ya. Let’s get back in there so I can kick your ass.”

Marco snorted. “I’m not enabling you.”

Ymir huffed, shoving the ball back at him. “I’ll just get your damn boyfriend to teach me.” She jerked her chin up. “‘Sides, I think the desk lady’s fixin’ to beat our heads in if we don’t get goin’ soon.”

Marco glanced over her shoulder at the puffy student aide glaring at them from across the lobby for a second before his sight was blocked by a six foot six body with a bad haircut. Marco smiled and waved.

“Heyo, Bertl!” Bertl jumped from where he’d been absorbed in his phone, blinking up at them. Ymir cut her eyes back at him – her eyebrows shot up.

“You _know_ that bitch?”

Marco snorted and tossed her ball back. “Yeah, he’s our center.” Bertl came over and bumped shoulders with Marco, hair still damp from a shower. “Hey, man, what’s up?” Marco asked, finally taking off his own hat and shaking out his hat hair. Bertl smiled at him, shaky, with a shrug. Marco flapped a hand at Ymir. “This is Ymir, my lab partner, basketball player, and village idiot.”

She laid a hand on Bertl’s forearm, stare hard enough to make Bertl squirm (not like that took a lot). “ _Please_ tell me you play my sport, not just Marco’s.”

Bertl scratched his head with an awkward laugh, water spraying around his head. “Uh, well, actually, no, I can’t shoot to save my momma’s life. Or pass. Or dribble.” Ymir moaned and fell a few steps back, pressing her ball to her face to muffle her groans about wasted bone structure. Bertl caught Marco’s eye, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Marco laughed. “She’ll live.”

Bertl smiled, biting his lip as he lowered his voice and said, “You know, I haven’t thanked you yet.”

Marco tilted his head. “For what?”

“The whole-” He flicked his eyes at a still mourning Ymir. “The whole _Annie_ thing.”

“Ah.” Marco shrugged it off. “Not a problem, really. Happy to help.” He adjusted his practice bag on his shoulder. “Y’all holding up alright with that?”

Bertl nodded, short quick jerks of his head, lips pressed thin. “Yeah, yeah. We’re great. Reiner, too.”

Marco chuckled, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “As long as it works, I guess.”

“It does.” Marco raised an eyebrow. Bertl looked away. “It really, really does.”

Marco smiled and clapped Bertl’s arm. “I’m glad, man.”

Bertl smiled back, teeth barely showing. “Anyway, I gotta get to class. See you at practice?”

“A’course. See ya later, dude.” Marco clapped Bertl’s arm before stepping away as Bertl craned down into Ymir’s range to wave, a curl of his fingers.

“Nice to meet you?”

Ymir sneered. “Fuck off, you giant disappointment.” Marco rolled his eyes, but Bertl just laughed, deep in his chest.

“That’s what the high school basketball coach said, too.” She bared her teeth as he waved again and left, shaking his hair like a dog. Marco chuckled and crossed his arms, nudging Ymir with his elbow.

“Still wanna skip class?”

“ _Hell_ yeah, now I _gotta_ beat somethin’ up.” She stomped her way back into the gym, a cloud of steam and a laughing Marco following her.

* * *

Marco got to Wednesday lab a touch earlier than normal. None of the team outside of his running backs and other close friends knew how to handle him now that he’d confirmed the gay thing, caught between a lifetime of opinions and three years of knowing and liking Marco on his own merit. Silence was fine for him, as long as they kept whatever suppressed emotions they had off the field and listened to him when he helped Eren or the starting quarterback, Jackson, call the scrimmage plays. Maybe he could get through the rest of this season unscathed.

Sasha wandered up while he was still waiting in the hall, leaning on the wall next to him. “Hey, Marcoroni and cheese. How’s it hangin’?”

Marco glanced at her and lost his Fruit Ninja game. He let it go and slid his phone back in his pocket. “Wow, I’ve never heard _that_ one before.” She stuck her tongue out at him. He frowned. “You need something?”

“Why you always gotta think I want somethin’?” He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. She nudged her shoulder into his bicep. “Okay, _fine_ I gotta favor to ask.”

“I’ve got an away game this weekend so y’all can have the room all to yourselves.”

Sasha laughed, cheeks pink. “That’s great, but not what I was gonna ask, actually.” She nudged him again but didn’t pull away this time. “You know my roommate?”

“All I know is that she’s a crazy insomniac who never talks to Connie when he comes over.”

“Yeah, that’s because she hates him. Also, she’s a journalism major who works for the school paper.”

He raised his eyebrow at her. “And those two things are related?”

She pinched his arm. “Shut up, Butt.” He shoved her away with a hand on her scalp, but she came back and wrapped her arm around his. “I was _hoping_ that _maybe_ you could let her interview you for one of those spotlight pieces so she’ll get off my ass about kicking her out all the time?” She put her chin on his shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes at him with her fake sugar smile. “ _Please?_ ”

He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

The lab door opened and expelled the previous class as she moaned and clung tighter. “Come _on_! She’s being such a _bitch_ about it!”

Marco frowned at her. “How often are you kicking her out? Y’all only did it to me that one time.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not scared she’s gonna beat me up like Connie is of you.” Marco blinked, forehead furrowing in confusion. “Yeah, I told him he’s being a stupid asshole, but he won’t stop.” Clearly, Marco need to smile more in the dorm. They followed the other early birds into the newly vacated lab, Marco more dragging Sasha along than anything. “This could be good for you!”

“Oh really? How?” Marco bit out as he shook her off and dropped his bag by their table.

“You ain’t gotta be so _snippy_ about it, mister!” She hopped onto her stool next to him, still smiling through his flash of a bad mood. “You _could_ set the story straight about you. So to speak.” Marco glared at her. She wrinkled her nose in a grin. “It’s _flattery_ , moron. She’s been askin’ after you for weeks, ever since she figured out I know you.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You’re the most interesting dude on campus right now.”

Marco felt the smile creep in and tried to beat it back. “Really?”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, eyebrows still waggling. “Hell yeah! Dude, you’re, like, the football version of The Most Interesting Man in The World or some shit.”

Marco laughed, shoulders shaking as he dragged out his lab notebook. “No, that’s not me.” Sasha rolled her eyes but didn’t argue as Ymir came in right behind Jean, who was showing his nerd roots today with a short-sleeved shirt with a screenprinted Pokèball on it layered over long and a pair of skinny jeans that made Marco cough and look away. Ymir crashed down across from him as Jean sorted through his stuff at the distant podium. She cocked a grin at him.

“Still sore from yesterday’s ass-kickin’, eh, Butt?”

“You almost made me throw out my knee again, thanks, puta.” He pointed his pencil at her, leaning on the table with an elbow. “Next time we’re _just_ shooting.”

“Bring it on, big guy. Hey, y’all’s game this weekend’s at Elon, right?”

Marco nodded, dropping his hand. “It’s a late game, so we’ll be staying the night, but yeah. Why?”

She slapped her lab notebook to the table. “Surprise, bitch, that shit’s my hometown. I’m gonna head on over for the weekend and meet the girl to watch y’all stink up the joint, so you think you’d be down for hangin’ after?”

Marco raised one shoulder, flipping through his notebook to the next empty page. “Depends. If we win, yes. If we lose, _absolutely_.”

“Dude, it’s _Elon_. You’ll smash them into red and gold dust.”

“That’s what I thought about Furman, too, and look how that turned out.” He smiled at her. “But I’d love to meet your girl.”

“What about _me_?” Sasha butted in with her usual grace and charm. Marco chuckled.

“Do you want to come with us or do you want to have my dorm to you and Connie?”

She opened her mouth to answer – closed it with a huff. “You never gave me a stupid answer about the stupid interview, jackass.”

Ymir snorted. “ _Interview?_ ”

Marco made a face. “Sash wants me to let her crazy roommate do a piece on me for the paper.” Ymir arched an eyebrow, but Sasha groaned and fell over to hang off Marco’s arm, ass barely hanging onto her stool.

“ _Please?_ I’m fuckin’ desperate here – I gotta _live_ with this bitch for another _semester!_ I’ll – I’ll do your stupid laundry, or wash your car, or – do you even have a car?”

Marco rubbed his chin. “My sheets probably could use a spin cycle…”

“God, yeah, you’re a stupid boy, I bet you haven’t washed them since your mom did in the summer.” She shot her Splenda smile at him. “So I can give Ilse your number, then?”

He laughed and shoved her off. “ _Fine,_ whatever, I’ll do it, let go of me!”

“Drama queen,” Ymir mumbled as Sasha ruffled his hair in thanks. He swatted Sasha away and wrinkled his nose at both of them. At the front of the classroom, Jean called for attention with a sharp whistle.

“A’ight, my guinea pigs. In case y’all ain’t noticed, this here’s the last real lab y’all’ve got with me.” A small cheer circled through the lab. Marco blinked. “M- the professor ain’t mean enough to make y’all come the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and then hell week we’ll have one last review lab, and then the final that’s on – Tuesday, I think.” He leant back against the chalkboard, his black shirt and red-striped hair getting chalk leftovers on them. “I want y’all to know that it’s been a real treat teachin’ y’all. I cain’t’ve asked for a better first class.” His eyes slid over Marco, smile soft and mismatched. “So y’all better leave me some pretty-ass teacher reviews or I’ll take back every word I just said.” The class laughed; Jean’s eyes locked with Marco’s for a few long seconds before he shoved himself off the chalkboard by his shoulders and clapped his hands. “A’ight! Let’s wrap this shit up, yeah?” The class got to work, paper shuffling and conversation bubbling up. Jean leant against his podium and looked out over the class, gaze catching on Marco – damn, he was staring. Jean winked before Marco yanked himself away, throat tight, to corral Sasha and Ymir into behaving one last time.

* * *

For the first time in three months, Marco was nervous when he shoved open the door to the Lindsay room. He didn’t want to think about why.

Jean spun his chair around when Marco entered, smile lopsided and hair a tousled, striped mess. Marco tried to smile through his weird nausea as he dropped into his usual spot, coffee waiting on him on the table there. He bit his cheek and didn’t check it before taking a sip.

“Hey there, big guy.” Marco’s mouth twitched around his perfect coffee. Jean tilted his head. “You okay there?”

Marco nodded, swallowing on his stomach’s unrest. “Fine.” He shoved his hair back, huffing. “Just kinda in shock about the end of the semester, y’know?”

Jean nodded and kicked his feet up on the table. “Yeah, it does tend to do that to ya.” He sipped his coffee, raising his thick eyebrows over the edge. “You’ve had quite a ride to git here, ain’t ya?”

Marco snorted. “And it was stupid the whole time.” Marco pulled his good leg to his chest and propped his coffee on his knee. “I’m not sure if I’ve thanked you for helping me through it.”

Jean batted it away. “Naw, I ain’t been that good to ya, just common human courtesy, s’all.”

Marco shook his head. “I’m serious. I probably would’ve gone off the deep end without you.” He picked at the seam of his coffee’s cardboard sleeve, avoiding Jean’ tawny surprise. “Thank you.”

Jean kicked his feet off the table to roll closer. “Hey now.” Marco glanced up. Jean smiled at him, his sigh breezing over Marco’s free hand, loose on his bad leg. “Don’t you worry about it, honey. That’s what I’m here for.” He placed his hand over Marco’s, squeezing. “And I think you’re doin’ just fine.”

Marco’s thumb ran over Jean’s knuckles, heart in his ears. “Thank you.” Jean had a clump of mixed-color hair in his eyes. Marco made to brush it away and lost his grip on his coffee, which wobbled on his knee – he fumbled to catch it, the top layer sloshing onto his shirt. Jean’s hand slipped away as he sat back with a chuckle, Marco’s face burning. He set his cup on the table with a small _thump_ and buried his face in his thigh, wrapping his arm around to hide himself from Jean’s easygoing laugher. “Shut up,” he grumbled. Jean patted his elbow.

“We can’t all be perfect all the time.” Marco sighed and sat back to survey the damage – his white shirt now had coffee spots all down it. Perfect. Jean laughed on as Marco dabbed at it. “You need a napkin, sweetheart?”

Marco huffed and let his shirt go. “Nah, I’ll just make Sasha clean it up later.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Your lab partner does your laundry?”

“Just this once, it’s her payment for makin’ me do something I don’t wanna do.” Marco glanced up – _oh_. “Oh, _God_ , no, Sasha and I ain’t nothin’ – she’s sleeping with my _roommate_ , not me!” Marco shuddered hard, and Jean clapped a hand to his mouth. “ _Never_ , ugh.”

Jean snorted, eyes crinkling. “Watch out, or people might think you’re gay.” Marco glared at him. Jean cracked, dissolving into a sprawl on his chair, chest heaving as he laughed, head back, throat bared. Marco turned his chair to face the table and scowled out the window, chugging his depleted coffee until Jean could control himself, bugging his good leg tight.

Jean settled down eventually, but didn’t start the conversation again right away, letting the silence seep over them as he rotated his ankle, toes on the ground, idle spins in his chair. Marco slowed to sips, letting the heat of the coffee and the old contact wake him up slowly.

“You got any Thanksgiving plans?” Jean asked after a few minutes, leaning on the table and resting his front teeth on the edge of his thermos.

Marco shrugged. “We’ve got a game Saturday, so it’s not like most of us can afford the one-day plane ticket to go home.”

Jean hummed, nodded. “Guess I never thought about that loophole.” Marco smiled.

“There’s a lot of attachments to being varsity that they forget to tell you at tryouts.” Marco rested his cheek on his knee to watch Jean’s face. “There’s a group of local moms that put on a group dinner for us out-of-staters, but they never season their turkey right.” Jean snorted, and Marco smiled again. “I’ve been playing the angle of getting some of my other friends to let me use their kitchen, but I keep forgetting to ask outright.”

Jean nodded, flipping the tab covering the opening of his thermos back and forth. He breathed a laugh, shaking his head. “Y’know, I was fixin’ to ask you if you just wanted to join us, but Momma’s have my hide for breakin’ some ethics code or another, I’m sure, so I guess that ain’t the best idea.” Marco bit his cheek when Jean flipped his hair out of his eyes and shone his mismatched smile at him. “Next time?”

Marco swallowed. “Yeah, okay.”

* * *

Marco had spent half a lecture in his freshman political science course going over the legal term ‘an act of God’, which constituted a cataclysmic event beyond the control of any human powers – hurricane, earthquake, volcano, and so on. He’d have to submit an amendment to that definition, because tonight in the freezing rain, they were losing to Elon. What was supposed to be a steamroller victory had turned around on a few lucky breaks for Elon – two of them interceptions of Eren’s water-slicked passes. It was fourth quarter now and Jackson was back in to fix his rookie mistakes while Levi chewed more holes into Eren’s skin on the sidelines. The offense hadn’t completely fallen apart, though, so Marco still had plenty of field time to hit things and struggle to stay upright in the muddy dead grass, chilled but sweating. Rain was the _worst_.

They did manage another touchdown, jumping into reaching distance of a victory. Marco jogged off the field as special teams took over for the free kick and looked to Eren on reflex – jerked to a halt just inside the paint. Eren was in shock on the bench, hair dripping rain onto his knees as Levi ranted to the clouds, Eren’s lips moving without words. Oh God.

Marco ducked and bobbed through the standing room sidelines to the coach cluster in the middle and hauled at the offensive coordinator’s elbow. “Coach Z!”

Coach Z spun around, scratchy beard pointing all directions and hat long gone. “What?” he yelled over the din of the team and the scattered fans. Marco stabbed a thumb over his shoulder as he ripped off his helmet.

“Yo, you gotta call off Levi, he’s messing Eren up somethin’ crazy!”

Coach Z looked over his head (and all the other heads) to the quarterback bench. “The hell’s that idiot doin’?” He shoved his clipboard into Marco’s chest. “Take over for a sec, kid.” He slipped away before Marco could open his mouth, striding over to a red-faced Levi and whapping him upside the head. Marco whipped around before he could get sucked into that and flipped through the laminated plays on the clipboard, trying to piece together something that would save them.

* * *

They lost by a field goal. Marco didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what Ymir was going to say about that.

“Dude, what the flying _fuck_ was that?” she yelled out her car window at him an hour after the game ended. She’d come over to the hotel (they’d probably stayed in grungier) to take him out on the town as planned, the girlfriend parked in the passenger seat of Ymir’s colorless Civic. Marco sighed and crossed the drop-off zone to lean an arm on the cold, wet roof and frown at her.

“I will come to every basketball game and throw popcorn at you for every free throw if you don’t shut up.” She rolled her eyes at him and cocked an eyebrow at the girlfriend.

“Told you he’s a drama queen.” The girlfriend, a tiny blonde girl in a bright pink raincoat, giggled. Ymir sneered at him. “Get your bitch-ass in the car so we can get you fucked up,” she snarled at him, jerking the brakes so he lost his balance. Marco flicked her forehead with his middle finger and danced away when she snatched at him through the window, jumping to the backseat and sliding in as the girlfriend laughed at Ymir’s pout. The girlfriend turned in the passenger seat to smile back at Marco, her hair and makeup still done up from cheering at the afternoon’s North Carolina game.

“Hey there, sweetie, I’m Krista. Nice to finally make your acquaintance.”

Marco smiled and ducked his head in a nod. “Yours, too. Heard a lot about you.” She laughed, a syncopated tinkling.

“Don’t worry, I’m not nearly as perfect as Ymir sells me to be.” Ymir huffed and rolled up her window as she pulled out from under the drop-off’s canopy and growled out into the November night.

Ymir and Krista were deep in a conversation about why the campus fountains were still running in the rain at night when Marco’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He shook it out to read the text – from Eren.

From: Numbah 5  
Whereru  
Sat, Nov 22, 10:32 pm

From: Numbah 21  
Friends dragging me out. You okay?  
Sat, Nov 22, 10:33 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Fine. Ar and Mik are here and were asking foru  
Sat, Nov 22, 10:33 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Whereu goin  
Sat, Nov 22, 10:34 pm

Marco leant forward to ask, “Hey, where are y’all taking me, anyway?”

Ymir laughed. “Brewballs. You don’t mind steppin’ over the tracks to my _real_ hometown, do ya?”

Marco snorted. “What, you expected me to buy that you’re from this white bread world?” He smiled at the girlfriend. “No offense.”

She laughed. “Don’t you worry, sweetie, I got over that way before this lug got the guts to ask me out.” Ymir huffed, but Krista laughed and rubbed her cheek on Ymir’s shoulder. “Not that taking your sweet time’s a _bad_ thing, sweetheart.”

Marco smiled. “If you’re gonna be worried about me and rough parts of town, I’d love to show you where I grew up.” He kicked back, twisting around to prop his feet on the center console and text Eren. “Lead on.”

From: Numbah 21  
Some place called brewballs  
Sun, Nov 22, 10:36 pm

From: Numbah 5  
Were coming  
Sun, Nov 22, 10:37 pm

From: Numbah 21  
Are you sure thats a good idea? Maybe you should sit this one out  
Sun, Nov 22, 10:38 pm

From: Numbah 5  
If I stay in this room imma break something well meetu there  
Sun, Nov 22, 10:30 pm

Marco sighed and put his screen to sleep. “Y’all don’t mind company, do y’all?”

* * *

It was late Saturday night of the fourteenth week of the fall semester, and Marco’s nerves were thrumming from waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eren and his housemates had found the bar (which was barely more than a doublewide with a neon sign) about half an hour after Marco had ridden in on Ymir’s local coattails. In the shuffle of introducing everyone and sitting down around a corner table, Eren’s steam cloud dissipated a little, but Marco could tell that the shock from the sidelines had given away to his temper. Now he was primed and itching for a fight. The bar had a decent crowd for a cold and rainy night, and the local band in the corner was playing incomprehensible Red Hot Chili Peppers covers to drown out quiet conversation. As Marco expected, Ymir and Mikasa hit it off talking about their respective sports and their superiority over the other, while Krista and Armin bonded over cranberry cocktails and being short and blond or something. Marco ended up being the primary contact for keeping Eren in line, talking him down from any looks the locals gave them and letting him get out all of his post-game emotions over the Fireballs and PBRs Ymir kept ordering for the table. Even after two shots of whiskey and three beers, Marco’s shoulders ached from the tension.

It was after midnight when Eren crunched his latest empty can between his palms and stood, grumbling about finding a bathroom. He had to extract himself from Armin’s hold on his arm, which was less sloth-like than Sasha’s and more symbiotic, like lichen. Armin gave him a vague, beer-addled smile as he passed, hand reaching out to run its fingers down Eren’s arm. Krista caught it through her stage-heavy mascara and leant in to Armin when Eren disappeared behind the hanging bathroom sign, her necessary yelling carrying over to Marco.

“So, how long have y’all been dating?” Marco winced behind his beer as Armin recoiled and shook his head, hair falling out of its little ponytail.

“No! No, no, we’re not – it’s just – we grew up together-” He slumped, back to Marco and neither of them paying attention to his eavesdropping. “Is it that obvious?”

Krista smiled and laid a hand on his arm. “Oh, _honey_.”

He took a gulp his beer. “It’s just-” He sniffed and rubbed his face with the wrist of his sleeve, and Marco tossed back the remaining third of his can in one go. The band was between sets, and Mikasa and Ymir were too busy comparing position difficulties to distract him from listening to this train wreck approach in slow motion. Armin gulped at his beer again. “I don’t want it to be weird, you know? We’ve been friends for _so long_ , and he’s super important to me, and I can’t just lose him because I-” He wiped his face again as Krista clucked over him and Marco reached for the fresh round the waiter/bartender had just dumped on the table, chucking back the Fireball shot first for the burn. “I _can’t_ lose him.”

“Darlin’.” Krista brushed some of his hair behind his ear. “You should talk to him, if it’s getting’ to ya this much.”

“ _No!_ ” Armin almost hit her in the face with his hair as it swung out with his violent headshake. “No, no, sorry, you don’t know him, he’d _never_ talk to me _again_ , I know him.” He drained his beer and tossed the empty can on the table so he could wrap his arms around his chest. “I thought it’d get better when I got on the T, right? Maybe when I got myself sorted out it’d all just disappear, go away, but it’s _not_ , it’s…” Krista lifted his chin with a finger and dabbed at his face with a cocktail napkin. “He’s never given me so much as a second glance our entire life together.” He hung onto Krista’s wrists, head bowed, before shaking his head and rubbing his face on his shoulder. “I’m just so _sick_ of feeling like this all the damn time, and it’s all _his_ stupid fault!”

Krista frowned. “Now honey, it ain’t no one’s _fault-_ ”

Marco glanced up at a small commotion across the bar – Eren was shoving his way through the small line of girls outside the bathrooms, eyes locked on an unknowing Armin. He stormed over through the grungy clientele and jerked to a halt two feet from Armin’s feet, eyes wide and intense. Armin looked up, curled inwards, as Krista tried to scoot away as discreetly as possible. Eren crouched down in front of Armin, grabbing his elbows and pinning Armin down with hazel fire as he growled, “Who did this?” Armin shook his head, tucking it into his shoulder. “ _Tell me_.”

Armin glared up at him through his bangs and said, in a small voice that everyone at the table heard, “Go fuck yourself.”

Eren let him go and sat back on his heels, hand a claw at his chest. Krista gasped and reached out to Armin as he spun around in his chair to stand and leave the bar, hugging himself as he danced around the people and shoved out the door. Ymir and Mikasa pulled out of their heated discussion, Mikasa’s eyes wide. Marco raised his eyebrows over his beer.

Eren’s hand scrabbled at his chest, gasping like the end of the fourth quarter, eyes plates and the pale parts of his skin ashen. “What-” He blinked fast, gaze unfocused. “ _What?_ ”

Mikasa half-stood, hand on the back of her chair. “Eren-”

He didn’t hear her, still dazed as he stood, staring where Armin’s scraggly half-ponytail had disappeared. He didn’t even grab the jacket draped over the back of his chair before shoving his way through the fake dance floor crowd and out the door. Marco glanced around the table at the varying expressions of discomfort and shock – and Mikasa’s steady glare after them.

“Idiots.” She shoved her chair back and snatched up her umbrella and Eren’s jacket, slinging it over her shoulder as she paused and turned back to them. “Sorry about that. It’s been a long day. Thanks for the beer.” She gave Ymir and Krista a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Nice meeting y’all.” She and Marco exchanged a heavy look. “I’ll let you know about tomorrow.” He nodded, and she was gone, leaving the three of them to speculate on what was happening in the midnight rain.


	12. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I'M ON THE HOME STRETCH AND IT FEELS GREAT!!! One more official week/chapter, then a finals week epilogue (if I need it), and I'll be set! Huzzah!
> 
> ...Then I can work on overhauling it for an original audience and repackage it without the attachment of fanfiction.... hehehehe.... So uh, yeah. I'm doing that. I know I said I would with the last one, but this time I mean it. If the stars align, I'm going to publish this shit. Cross your fingers, y'all.
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}

It was Sunday midmorning of the fifteenth week of the fall semester, and Marco was curled up against the window of the football bus, Rihanna pounding out the team chatter, his legs stretched out over an insensitive Eren’s lap as he texted Mikasa.

From: Marco  
So no one died?  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:47 am

From: Mikasa  
Not yet at least  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:51 am

From: Mikasa  
That was the most painful car ride of my life  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:52 am

From: Marco  
I feel your pain, Eren hasn’t said a word since he came back last night  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:52 am

From: Marco  
What went down anyway?  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:53 am

From: Mikasa  
They talked in the rain and ignored me  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:55 am

From: Mikasa  
Even when I was holding the umbrella for them like the children they are  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:56 am

From: Mikasa  
They went in circles but eventually eren got it through his thick head that armin likes him  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:57 am

From: Mikasa  
And then it went downhill  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:58 am

From: Marco  
God what a mess. Maybe we shouldve talked to them  
Sun, Nov 23, 9:59 am

From: Mikasa  
This was only going to end poorly  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:01 am

From: Mikasa  
I took ar home to raleigh  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:01 am

From: Mikasa  
Im about to pick him up to bring his ass back to campus but I dont think this will blow over soon and idk how the house will be  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:02 am

From: Marco  
Oh yeah. That. Uhh. I can distract eren for the day but he cant sleep with me  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:05 am

From: Mikasa  
Understood. Let me gauge armins mood and get back to you  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:07 am

Marco played some Fruit Ninja to pass the time, but he ran out of lives before Mikasa got back to him and they were still on the highway, not even in sight of the mountains yet. He sighed and sat up proper, Eren barely breathing when he swung his feet off his lap. Marco frowned and took an earbud out, nudging him. “Hey.” Eren blinked, pulling himself from whatever dazed part of his head he’d hidden in with an eyerub and a yawn. Marco asked, “You okay?”

Eren shrugged and stretched his shoulders out, wincing. “No.” He ran his hands through his wild hair. “The hell do I do, man?”

Marco didn’t try to pretend he was talking about the Elon game. “Honestly? I’ve got no idea.” Eren turned his hazel deer eyes to Marco, lips parted around a held breath. Marco placed a hand on Eren’s forearm, and he breathed again. “There’s not going to be an easy fix for this. We’ve known that for a while.”

Eren cocked his head, frown lines digging trenches on his forehead. “ _We?_ ”

“Oh.” Marco paused his Rihanna and wrapped his headphone cord around his phone. “Well, Mikasa and I have… had suspicions, for a little bit now.” Eren sucked in a breath, flush blotchy and eyes wide. Marco squeezed his wrist again. “We didn’t know what to do, either.”

“God.” Eren slouched in his seat and pressed his palms to his eyes. Marco watched him gasp between his wrists, throat working but no words coming out. Marco frowned after a minute of that and slid his wrapped headphone cord off his phone, unplugging them and finding the notepad app. He tapped Eren’s shoulder until Eren uncovered one eye, unshed tears making it glow green. Marco held out the phone.

“It might be easier to type than talk.” Eren dropped both hands and stared at Marco – the phone – nodded, taking it and staring at the screen, chomping on his lip as he tapped out his thoughts, a character at a time. Marco chewed on a thumb (he hadn’t had any nail left since August) and stared out the window at the passing traffic until a soft poke at elbow made him look down at a broken paragraph. He took his phone back, Eren’s eyes averted from his glance, and read.

                I dont know what to do or say or think anymore

                I wasnt ready for how much that would hurt

                But…

                I still dont want to kiss him or anything?? It sounds gross

                Is something wrong with me

                I feel cracked

Marco frowned and handed the phone back. “You’re not broken, Eren. You’re just not interested.” Eren blinked at the fading light of Marco’s screen. Marco ran his tongue along the back of his teeth. “Do you remember Hitch?”

Eren scowled at the black screen in his hands. “Citadel?” Marco nodded. “I got her friend’s nose broke.”

Marco held in a chuckled. “Not what I meant.” He crossed his arms and his ankles, stretching his legs out under the seat in front of him. “She’s like that, too.”

Eren ground his teeth on his confusion. “But she _never_ stopped flirting.”

Marco huffed. “That’s just her way. She likes flirting, but she doesn’t do it for any end goal.” He smiled at Eren, but he still couldn’t make eye contact. “She figured it out right after she figured out I was gay for me.”

Eren grunted. “That explains….” He trailed off into a shrug. “So?”

“ _So_.” Marco wrapped a hair curl around his finger. “Even though we broke up for obvious reasons, people thought we were still dating for, like, a year after, since we talked like we used to. We helped each other understand ourselves and stuff.” He shot a look at Eren. “I know more about asexuality than you’d think.”

Eren crossed his arms tight, hands squeezed under his armpits. “Never heard of it.”

“I’ll send you a link.” Eren’s nose wrinkled. “And I’m sure Hitch would love to educate you, if you want me to give you her number.” Eren slouched harder. “I know you don’t like thinking about yourself, especially like this.” Eren lifted a foot to prop it on the back of the seat in front of him, glaring holes into his knee. “But it’ll help.”

“ _How?_ ” Eren snarled. “Will slapping a label on this make Armin stop being weird?”

Marco sighed, long and heavy. “No.” Eren closed his eyes and banged his head on his seat back.

“I just-” He choked off and fumbled for Marco’s phone. Marco reached over put in his passcode so Eren could type again, fingers shaking.

                Im not me without him

                Or miks but thats different

                He makes me think right and i never have to explain myself for him

                Or at least i ddint used to

                I cant lose him over something as stupid as this

Marco bit his thumb. “I don’t think you’ll lose him,” he said around his finger. “But I do think you’ll need to explain yourself, at least a little bit.” Eren groaned and knocked his head back a few times before stilling, vacant eyes fixed on the dirty ceiling of the charter bus. Marco let him think and fished his headphones from his pocket. He hadn’t quite sorted out their inexplicable tangle when his phone vibrated on his leg.

From: Mikasa  
Hes not coming  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:33 am

From: Marco  
What does that mean?  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:34 am

From: Mikasa  
It means when I came to pick him up he was hiding in his bed like a baby and refused to get out  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:34 am

From: Mikasa  
I love myself too much to drag his ass out so hes not coming back to campus  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:35 am

From: Mikasa  
Ill yell at him later when hes not such a mess  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:37 am

From: Marco  
Yikes  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:38 am

From: Mikasa  
Hows eren doing?  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:41 am

From: Marco  
Moping  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:41 am

From: Marco  
Not well tbh  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:43 am

From: Mikasa  
Yeah. Yeah  
Sun, Nov 23, 10:44 am

* * *

After Marco deposited Eren in Mikasa’s care on Sunday afternoon, he hoped that he could get a few days free of yelling outside of practice to fortify himself for the end of the semester. He should’ve learned to factor Sasha into those plans.

It was Monday night. He’d crashed as soon as he’d come home from the gym, worn out by Reiner’s renewed vigor at the weights now that he had two significant others. Marco barely took off his shoes before he crawled into bed, massaging the leg around his bad knee right until he dropped off into a dream about a dairy farm on Mars.

He’d just found the power source of the planet in a bucket of yellow milk when the planet exploded, cows screaming –

He sat shock straight in bed, confused and gasping as the screaming continued in the swirling world around him, his bed shaking. He rubbed his eyes – the door was open, the hall light flooding the room and blinding Marco to the screamers as they jumped on his bed, banging sore muscles with each joint as they clutched him, sweaty and dual. He scrubbed at his face, sleep-dizzy, as they stopped screaming in favor of panting into Marco’s ears and gabbing about stuff his brain was too slow to catch or care about. His mouth didn’t even taste bad yet.

“Can I help you?” he asked through a yawn, blinking away red cows from his thoughts. The one who’d crammed between him and the wall kicked his bad knee hard as they gripped his middle tighter, and he grunted through the dull pain. “Sash, _why?_ ”

“We _saw_ _her!_ ” she screamed, shaking him hard enough to knock Connie off the bed on his other side – not like it was designed to fit him anyway, much less two more people. “We felt her! We saw her! It was creepy as hell!”

Connie scrambled back onto the bed and managed to hold both Marco and Sasha – well, more like sprawling across Marco to stay on the bed, but whatever. “She was gray and thin and floaty and touched Sasha’s and I got a picture! I got four! Holy shit, dude, you should’ve _been_ there!” he shouted even as he shook in Marco’s lap. Marco rubbed his eyes again, accidentally-but-not-really elbowing them both in the heads as he stretched.

“That’s great, you found a cobweb. Now get out.” They kept gabbing, though, trembling and laughing, until Marco tipped Connie off his bed and hauled Sasha over and away by her waist, rolling with her weight to dump her on Connie and lie on his stomach. He buried his face in his pillow and grumbled at them to shut up, but it was both muffled and in Spanish. He sighed as they hid with the camera under Connie’s sheets, giggling and gasping until Marco threw his pillow at them and fell asleep on his forearms.

* * *

He was not inclined to be charitable when he woke up Tuesday morning, groggy and unhappy with the world. But Sasha was still in his room, having stolen another one of his shirts to sleep in Connie’s bed and hide from the ghost, and she’d set up his interview with her roommate for that morning. She promised to buy him coffee _and_ take his blazer to the dry cleaners in anticipation of the end of season banquet, which was the only reason he found himself in one of the library privacy rooms, latte under his nose and Sasha _still_ prattling on about the ghost at his side. It was almost a relief when the roommate showed up, eyes dark like she’d gotten even less sleep than them, her slick black hair falling out of her bun held up with three sticks. Sasha introduced them to each other – Ilse, the roommate’s name was Ilse – and ran off to a lecture, leaving the two of them alone in the awkward silence.

Awkward for Marco, at least. Ilse took one of her hairsticks out of her bun – it was a pen – and held it in her teeth as she opened her Macbook and turned it perpendicular to them. She fished a notebook from her dumpy shoulder bag as Marco watched, sipping his latte (he’d made Sasha splurge, no matter how much his caffeine headache would hurt later). She glanced up at him – smiled, softer than he thought she could with her heavy eyeliner. “You don’t have to look so terrified,” she said, a laugh bubbling under her words. She clicked her pen against her teeth and reached around to fiddle with her laptop. “I’m not here to convict you of treason or anything.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course, sorry.” He sat back in his chair, running his free hand through his hair. “Sorry, I guess I’m just not used to this.”

“Really?” she asked, still working on her laptop. “I seem to remember that this isn’t the first time we’ve reached out to you for a piece.” Marco blinked at her, and her hooded eyes crinkled. “The Virginia Tech game?”

“Oh.” He grimaced. “Sorry, I’ve had a – busy semester. That feels like years ago.” She laughed, a quiet brook murmur. “Yeah, I got a few emails and stuff from y’all and a few others, but they stopped pretty fast when I didn’t respond, so that was alright.”

She raised an eyebrow under her hanging hair. “A few others?” She sat back from her laptop. “You don’t mind if I record this, do you? For my sake, so I don’t have to write everything down.”

“Oh – no, I guess, that’s fine.” She nodded and clicked her trackpad before picking up her pen and slashing down a few remarks on her notepad, finishing with a sharp jab.

She tilted her head up at him, a smile lingering on her face. “You don’t really like the spotlight, do you?”

Marco opened his mouth. Frowned. Shook his head. “Not really, no.” He sipped his latte, chewing on the lid. “Maybe for the first morning there, but then it just got nasty fast and I hated it.”

Her head knocked to the other side, eyes flicking up from her notes. “So if you hate it so much why do you play?”

“Because it’s a fun game and I never liked any of the other sports I tried as a kid.” He wrinkled his nose at her. “What does this have to do with the interview?”

She laughed her water-giggle again, flicking her bangs from her eyes. “I just want to learn about you, Marco, in whatever order feels natural.” She flipped a few pages back in her notebook. “But I can start with my prepped question now and let it flow from there.”

Marco nodded, picking at the sleeve of his latte. “Please.”

She tapped her pen on her cheek as she scanned her questions. “So, Marco, where are you from?”

* * *

Marco didn’t know how many time he could be let down until Thanksgiving hit. He’d suspected that their explosive weekend would rule out Eren and Mikasa, and was proven right when she picked him up from football practice Tuesday afternoon with a tight half-smile as an apology. Connie was going back to Charlotte, Sasha was _sprinting_ out of the gate to get back to Atlanta, Franz was meeting his girlfriend in Asheville, and even Ymir was headed back to the danger hub of Elon to spend more than a shitty Saturday night with her girlfriend and watch her cheer at the Chapel Hill game. He knew some of the football team would be around, but after a season together he was good and sick of their faces. Another boring break alone, then.

(He almost texted Jean. Almost.)

His two Tuesday lectures were half-empty and lazy, only attended out of necessity or boredom. Jean’s mom let them go five minutes early with a “Happy Thanksgiving!” and a threat to study for the final over the break. Not like Marco had anything else to do.

His foul mood ripened through Wednesday, as campus emptied and his thoughts had more space to spread their rot on. He couldn’t even go to the gym to work it off, since it was closed for the holidays. The freezing air and Marco’s knee screamed at him when he thought about going for a run. No movie could hold his attention for more than half an hour, and Tetris’s effect refused to take hold.

All in all, he got to the unofficial team dinner an hour early on Thursday.

The mother-chatter led Marco through the turns of the deserted student union to one of the tucked-away side rooms on the second floor. He rapped a knuckle on the open doorframe when he found it, the closer moms looking up from unwrapping tinfoil. He smiled, head tilting with it. “Hi.” He glanced at the half-ready room and said the magic words: “Y’all need any help?”

As the hour passed and the local and the stranded filtered in, Marco set out tables and chairs, hauled in the soft drinks from one of the mom’s SUVs, and lit up the food warmers, body switching to catering mode without a thought.  The dozen or so moms thanked him and grilled him in turn; he talked more about his family’s restaurant than he had since leaving it in August, each anecdote punching a hole in his wall against homesickness. He’d have to call when this ended.

The moms kicked him out of prep a few minutes before they were set to begin, laughing as he fidgeted with the stack of paper plates out of habit. He ducked his head on a smile and turned away to find a seat, scanning the crowd of players, trainers, coaches, and a few family members. Half of his running backs were here, claiming the end of a table and waving him down. He waved back and went to join them, weaving through the standing throng waiting for the dinner bell. A hand tapped his arm as he passed – Marco paused for Coach Z, his facial hair actually clean-kept for once, blond hair swept back. “Hey kid. Good job on Saturday.”

“Oh. Thanks, coach.” Marco huffed. “We still lost, though.”

Coach Z shook his head. “That’s not what I was talking about.” He perched on the edge of the edge of the table, foot on the ground to keep it from tipping from his six-and-a-half foot weight, now eye level with Marco. “You did the right thing with the prodigy.”

Marco’s heart skipped – oh, right, the first part of Eren’s bad night. He ground his teeth, glad the quarterback coach didn’t come to this event. “Levi’s got no damn idea how to deal with him.” Marco bit his cheek – too far. But Coach Z just crossed his arms and nodded.

“Levi forgets that just ‘cause you kids play football ain’t mean y’all like gettin’ yelled at.” Marco shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I had a come to Jesus meeting with him, don’t you worry.” He tilted his head, heavy eyes weighing Marco down. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Marco blinked a few times. “Yeah, coach?”

“I’m puttin’ you up as my standing captain next year, taking Riley’s spot when he leaves.” Well _that_ hadn’t been on Marco’s mental list of possibilities. Coach Z chuckled. “Don’t look so scared, kid, it ain’t like you ain’t never called the coin toss before.” He shoved off the table and back to his feet, clapping Marco’s shoulder. “You gotta good head on you, and the team listens to you. You’ll be fine.” Marco grinned, flicking his hair from his eyes. His coach dropped his hand. “I know you’ve had a rough season. I just wanted you to know it ain’t the end of the world.”

Marco bit his cheek and curled his fists in his pockets. “Thanks, coach.”

“Sure thing, kid.” He jerked his chin at the line forming by the food. “Now g’on, git, ‘fore the vultures descend.” Marco nodded and stepped away, scratching at his scalp to cover up his smile.

* * *

It was Friday morning of the fifteenth week of the fall semester, and marco had officially lost the ability to sleep in past nine. He stared at the ceiling, cursing his early morning classes and ovens and two-a-day workouts, but at the end of it, he was still awake, far before he had any logical reason to be. He was trying to figure out if he cared enough to put on a shirt or even pants that day when his phone buzzed across his desk on the other side of the room. He groaned and rolled out of bed, bare feet thumping on the cold linoleum, yawning as he stretched, fingers laced over his head. He shook himself out and woke up his phone to see who wanted him.

It was Jean.

From: Jean K  
So this morning I felt really weird not talking to you so. Hi. Whats up  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:17 am

Marco scrubbed a hand over his smile and decided he could shave later. But he should probably brush his teeth. He sent a reply off to Jean, then went to hunt down some slacker sweats to throw on. (Even with the dorm ninety-five percent empty, he’d learned the hard way not to tempt fate and take the lazy route of going to the floor bathroom is his boxers.)

From: Marco the Muscle  
Boring break. Would honestly rather be in class rn  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:19 am

From: Jean K  
Ouch that sucks. I didnt wake you up did I?  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:20 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
No youre fine i was awake  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:23 am

From: Jean K  
Ok good. My morning perception gets all kinds of messed up when daddys home  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:24 am

From: Jean K  
He thinks 8 is late bc he wakes up at 5 like a crazy person  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:25 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Haha I get that, mami wakes up at 4  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:26 am

From: Jean K  
Indecent  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:26 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
It’s the restaurant business  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:27 am

From: Jean K  
Oh right  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:27 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
She does morning/lunch and dad or a sis does lunch/dinner  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:28 am

From: Jean K  
Haha so its her show then  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:29 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Ohyeah  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:30 am

From: Jean K  
I know how that goes  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:31 am

From: Jean K  
Momma wouldve been dean ages ago if she didnt like teaching so much  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:32 am

From: Jean K  
Always thought she was crazy but im starting to see the appeal :)  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:33 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Have fun this year then?  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:34 am

From: Jean K  
Sure did :)  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:34 am

From: Jean K  
Did I ever tell you I only did this bc mommas original ta dropped out to start a goat farm in wv  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:35 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Def not thats hilarious  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:36 am

From: Jean K  
Yeah they were never fit for academia neway but it was still a shock  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:38 am

From: Jean K  
Momma’s been tryin to get me to ta for the dept for a while but most of the profs treat me like im still the dept baby, so no thanks   
Fri, Nov 27, 9:39 am

From: Jean K  
But ive been helping momma w her class since hs so I was the best last min choice despite the nepotism   
Fri, Nov 27, 9:40 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Im still impressed yall kept the secret the whole semester  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:42 am

From: Jean K  
Helps that I take after daddy  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:43 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
And the last name thing  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:44 am

From: Jean K  
Of course :)  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:44 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
My turn for a fun fact: my dad took mamis name when they got married  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:46 am

From: Jean K  
No shit?  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:46 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
He was homeless when they met bc the war baggage drove his fam away and he still doesnt talk to them  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:47 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
So why keep their name when he got adopted into the perez-arriolas?  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:48 am

From: Jean K  
Dang. Harsh  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:48 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Deserved  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:49 am

From: Jean K  
You ever track any of them down on your own?  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:50 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Never thought to  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:50 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
What would I even say to them beyond a punch to the face?   
Fri, Nov 27, 9:52 am

From: Jean K  
Fair enough  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:52 am

From: Jean K  
*both* sets of gparents were in my house yesterday and dont do it not worth it  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:54 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
At least you got to see your family   
Fri, Nov 27, 9:55 am

From: Jean K  
Ohshit man im sorry  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:57 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Not your fault, sorry. I get like this at the end of the semester   
Fri, Nov 27, 9:58 am

From: Jean K  
I can imagine  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:58 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Tgiving is always the point when phone calls just dont cut it anymore   
Fri, Nov 27, 9:59 am

From: Jean K  
Sorry big guy :/  
Fri, Nov 27, 9:59 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Its okay I think I can last a few more weeks   
Fri, Nov 27, 10:01 am

From: Jean K  
Want to change the subject?  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:01 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Can we talk about anything else   
Fri, Nov 27, 10:01 am

From: Jean K  
Haha jinx  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:02 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Loser   
Fri, Nov 27, 10:02 am

From: Jean K  
So im dyeing my hair again! Also, rude  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:03 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Again/already?  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:04 am

From: Jean K  
Daddy thinks hes wearing me down but really I got tired of not matching any of my clothes anymore  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:05 am

From: Jean K  
I kept it long enough to scar my meemaw but cieras coming over soon to redo it  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:02 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Shes your cosmetologist neighbor right  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:04 am

From: Jean K  
Yep sure is  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:04 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Whatre you doing to it this time?  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:06 am

From: Jean K  
That better not be judging I hear there mister  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:07 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Hahaha of course not :)  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:08 am

From: Jean K  
She wants to use up the rest of my red dye and chop it off  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:09 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
She really likes using you as her guinea pig doesnt she  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:11 am

From: Jean K  
It helps that im willing :)  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:12 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
And so you have completed your evolution into a walking cherry tree huh  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:14 am

From: Jean K  
A cherry twig maybe. Cherry stem  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:15 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Now dont be so hard on yourself. Youre at least a cherry sapling  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:16 am

From: Jean K  
Asshole  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:16 am

From: Jean K  
You planning on being around all day?  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:17 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Literally the only thing I have to do anymore is study for your final  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:18 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Shirts were not in my plan until tomorrow  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:19 am

From: Jean K  
Bow chicka bow wow  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:21 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Shut up  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:21 am

From: Jean K  
:P okay great then im gonna get cieras ass over here and get it over with  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:22 am

From: Jean K  
Talk to you once the deed is done!  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:23 am

From: Marco the Muscle  
Dont hurt yourself  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:24 am

From: Jean K  
As if, pipsqueak  
Fri, Nov 27, 10:25 am


	13. Arrests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Well, this is it. I've got an epilogue tidbit to put together and then I'm done with this first draft of this story. It's been a solid, steady ride, and I've had an immeasurably fun time taking it, and I'm grateful to all y'all who hung on with me. I've got goals and ambitions for this to go original, but I'll be diving deep into uncharted waters with no idea how to swim, so the next step is gonna be another trip onto itself. Just keep an eye out for the Cs in your local YA section :) Thanks to everyone who gave me feedback, a beta read, or just a head to talk at in the last six months while I was consumed with this. If you liked this, I'll probably be talking constantly still about it on my [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) or my [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com), if you ever want status on how the future of Undercurrent is going. It's gonna be fun!  
>   
> Oh, and Marco has a panic attack in this chapter even though I never call it that, so, content warning.}

It was Sunday evening of the last week of the fall semester, and Marco was wondering if he should’ve brought his pads to dinner at the trio’s house. Mikasa had warned him of their return a few hours ago, and that while the other two had existed in the same car without yelling or breaking anything, they still were frigid with each other, raw and sore. She begged him to come over, both so she could have a decent conversation and because she hoped that Marco’s cooking could thaw them out enough to look at each other. He was too starved for human contact to say no and started planning what to feed them.

(He picked up his phone to call his Abuelita and ask what recipe would be best for this situation and got as far as her number before he remembered. He stared hard at her name on his list, thumb hovering over the ‘Delete’ button, but scrolled down to his mother before he could do it.)

Mikasa drove him from his dorm to the store so she could escape the living hell her house had become. They talked about Marco’s grocery list for the pozole, the weather, the song on the radio, anything to avoid the elephant in the car. When they got to the Harris Teeter, Marco headed for the produce section, but Mikasa detoured into the wine and bread aisle. Marco frowned and followed her, pausing by her side as she considered a wall of local-made reds. He crossed his arms, basket dangling from the crook of his elbow.

“Aren’t you allergic to alcohol?” he asked. She shrugged and picked a random bottle.

“Never stopped me before.” She put the bottle in his basket and grabbed another one. He huffed.

“And do you have a fake or am I supposed to sneak it out under my shirt?”

She cut her eyes at him. “Boy, have you ever been carded in your life?”

He opened his mouth. Frowned. “I don’t drink a lot.”

“Uh-huh.” She patted his arm and put the other bottle in his basket, then led the way to the produce. “Looking twenty-four and threatening will get you just as many places as bein’ athletic and pretty has gotten me. It don’t matter what _you_ think about it, just what everyone else does.”

He snorted. “Whatever you say,” he said as he followed. They’d probably get turned away at the register, but it was her loss.

(The cashier was a skinny high schooler who refused to make eye contact with Marco, and they sailed on through without a hitch. Marco tried to ignore Mikasa’s smug little grin.)

They crept into the house with their haul – Marco would’ve snuck in the door door if the yard wasn’t fenced off. All was quiet on the western front, though, so they ran to the kitchen and started cooking, Marco murmuring instructions to Mikasa that she followed with scientific precision. As the smell of hominy and onions filled the house, the recluses crawled from their holes, converging on the kitchen like cats that refused to admit they were starving. Marco and Mikasa ignored them in favor of arguing the portion size of Marco’s fist, making the stubborn idiots entertain themselves. Marco snuck a few glances at them – Armin sitting with some microwaved tea at the table, staring out the window, Eren flipping channels in the den. He almost said something, but his thoughts flickered to skylights and Annie’s sharp eyes, and he bit his tongue, turning back to the stove.

The food was ready when Armin was out of the kitchen to go to the bathroom. Eren came over at Mikasa’s call, scowling at his feet. The frown snapped away when she shoved two bowls into his gut. He blinked at her. She raised an eyebrow and jerked her chin at the hall door, where Armin was just coming back through. Eren’s eyes widened and he shook his head, fast and furious, but Mikasa stared him down until he stopped, sighed, and took the bowls. He spun and slunk to Armin’s chair, hesitating for a moment before plopping the bowl down in front of Armin.

“Here.” Armin looked up, blue eyes circles. Eren dropped into the chair next to him, glaring at his soup. Armin bit his lip and looked away – almost laughed.

“Oh, you forgot spoons.” He made to stand, but Eren shot to his feet first, chair almost falling back. Armin laughed for real, stringy hair trailing in his soup. Eren cursed and caught the chair, flushy blotchy. Armin smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, laying a hand on Eren’s wrist on the table. Eren frowned at it - Armin jerked back. “Oh, sorry-”

Eren shook his head, slow. “No, s’fine.” He cleared his throat. “We should…”

Armin cocked his head. “Talk.” Eren nodded and sat back down with a thump. Marco spun back to the stove and doled out his and Mikasa’s bowls and flipped the burner off in record time while mikasa grabbed one of their wine bottles and two glasses – well, coffee mugs, but who’s counting? They slipped out of the kitchen to eat in the front room, Armin’s eyes flicking at their departure, but Eren was closed off to everything but Armin and his phone, where he tapped out his thoughts, character by character.

* * *

They didn’t fix everything. They talked, in whatever form they could, but Marco couldn’t hold his breath. There was too much in that house for any recovery to be simple. He and Mikasa got tipsy and turned a blind eye to the kitchen’s actions.

Wine treated Marco differently than whiskey or beer or trashcan punch. His mouth was sour was he woke up Monday morning, and brushing his teeth couldn’t quite eradicate. Or maybe it tasted foul because of the aftertaste of Eren’s awkward attempts to reciprocate Armin’s handsy nature as Marco left. Or maybe it was his shit semester catching up with him.

Winter had truly set in along the Appalachians. The constant wind smelled like snow, which had lost its magic to Marco after his first practice in it. At least it had held off this year until the season was over. With the end of the season came shorter, easier practices, which cursed Marco with less distraction from the flotsam floating in his head. His hands hurt from their idleness, itching for something, anything constructive. He haunted Franz’s lab until he laughed, smile brilliant when he kicked Marco out on Tuesday afternoon so he could teach a class without Marco hovering and scaring his students. He scowled as he ducked out of the Ivory Tower into the slushy, gross day, harsh rain whipping into his unprotected face – he’d forgotten to check the weather when he was getting dressed that morning. Like the idiot he was.

Marco broke routine that evening to go to the gym after a drizzling practice. It was lame duck time in collegiate sports, that strange lull between fall and winter sports when everyone but the basketball teams slacked off for a few days of rest. He had the weights to himself for the first time all season, but he kept looking for the door, waiting for Reiner to burst in with his booming energy, or Bertl to slink over, hunched down in a constant apology for being the tallest person in the room, or even Ymir’s grating scratch of a voice calling a challenge from the practice court, where her braids would swing into his face with every block. But no one came, so after an hour or so of waiting, he put the weights back and left, turning off the lights behind him.

It was dark outside, cold as murder. The drizzle from practice was a hard sleet now, driving under his hood. He ducked into the bus shelter for a few minutes, but at this time of night, he could be waiting for the lone campus bus for longer than it’d take to walk back to his dorm. At least then he’d be moving. He shoved his bare hands (he’d left his gloves on his bed) into his jacket pockets and trudged across the street, watching his feet for iced-up spots of pavement.

He’d recovered from his aversion to the duck pond shortcut around midterms. Now, he only felt a flash of unpleasantness in his gut when he passed the spot where Mina’s sorority had pushed him in. The ducks were long flown south for the winter, so there was no ankle-biters to prevent him from cutting the corner sharp around the pond, tapping the ‘No Swimming’ sign with his knuckles as he hopped down to the gravel pond access strip. He glanced at the car stuck in the water - it’d been there for a week now. He never understood how people kept crashing in there, it’s not like there was a sharp turn or an easy jump into the water-

He put his foot down on something soft and squishy that squelched under his foot. He jumped back, cursing, gravel crunching under his foot – his bad knee wrenched, his heavy practice bad tipping him to the left, too much, too much-

He tumbled sideways into the duck pond, a shock of ice and mud and pain to his left side.

He sputtered and moaned, shoving himself to sit back on his hands – the pond was shallow here, he’d learned before, gravel cutting into his frozen palms under six inches of frigid water, two days from being iced over. The closest street light was on the other side of the crashed sedan, a strip of shadow in faint orange, so he fumbled to his feet in the dark, wincing at his twinging knee, shaking his dripping hair, slipping on the churned pond floor. His socks squelched in his ruined shoes as he cursed a string under his breath and tried to squeeze out his jacket, fingers shaking – he froze except for his chattering teeth. His bag wasn’t on his shoulder. He yanked around, almost falling into the pond again as he searched the swirling water with his eyes – but it was too dark, the pond ink in the lee of the car. He took a few steps deeper in, but stopped when it was shin-high, the rotten tomato in his chest exploding. What was the point? It’d probably been eaten by a fish that wasn’t supposed to exist in this pond or something, knowing his luck. His cheap phone was shot two seconds in that water, his clothes useless, and who knows what’d happen to his wallet down there. He sucked in an icy breath and buried his face in his hands – no. He had to move. Stopping to cry would only make him wetter. He had to get home, dry off, wrap up in a blanket or something. Then he could cry into his pillow about the trainwreck his life had become.

At least there weren’t witnesses to this particular foul.

He waded out of the pond to see what soft and squishy thing had snuck up on him, shaking out each leg as they came out of the water (oh, his knee didn’t like _that_ ). He paused just past the waterline, tiny waves from his fall and the fountain lapping at his soles as he stared. It was a dead squirrel, curled up around the footprint in its stomach fur. It’d been dead when he got there, of course, otherwise he’d have never stepped on it, but he still stared, the rotten tomato juice seeping through his organs to rumble in his abdomen. He stared until a full body shiver shot through him and made him step back into the water, waking him up to the sleet on the wind. He hugged his arms around his damp stomach and circled the tiny carcass, sending one last look back for his sunken bad before ducking his head deeper into his water-heavy hood and pushing on.

That trip across campus was the most painful walk of Marco’s life. Each step weighed him down past what the extra pounds of water weight warranted, shivering in tempo as the sharp wind cut through wet cotton, freezing it to his skin. The sleet clung to his bangs, dusting his head with even more ice than dripped into his eyes, slits against the gusts. His fingers, his nose, his toes were icicles, worse than the game in the snow two years ago. At least then he’d been playing, and there were people to suffer in kind. Now, campus was a hell week ghost town, doors locked against the weather and lights off in the windows. His shivering was more like trembling, thoughts a constant Spanish tumble as he cursed every rock in his way, every building, every disaster in his semester – but mostly, he just cursed himself. He should’ve watched his footing, kept his head down, said no to people a few more times, and none of this would’ve ever happened. Everything, everything was just his fault.

He knew there were tears on his face, because they were the only warm thing to hit his skin.

His throat was tight when he finally, _finally_ got to his dorm building. He could cry – he already was – he reached for his keys.

…Which were at the bottom of the duck pond, probably caught in the underbelly of a drowned Subaru.

He took in a deep breath, but the winter air chilled his throat and lungs instead of clearing his head. He couldn’t seem to breathe deep enough. He reached out a tremoring hand and knocked.

He didn’t expect anyone to answer, but he still knocked. He waited. Knocked again. Glanced around – maybe someone was coming back from the library - but there wasn’t a sane person out in this weather. He was gasping hard now, past the panting stage of panic. He knocked again (third time’s the charm) but only waited another beat before stepping out from the eaves of the door into the inside of the U of the building. His and Connie’s room was halfway down one arm - he could always tell by the Halloween window clings Connie had put up on their first week. He limped the last few yards, almost there, almost there-

He peered in between the spiderweb and the bat at a dark room, the only light coming from the strip under the door. He slapped the glass hard with an open palm – of _all_ the nights for him to be hunting, did it _have_ to be tonight? He slapped the glass again because it felt good and snarled his hands in his hair under his hood - clumps of it broke in his fat, unfeeling fingers, frozen solid. He gasped around his constricted throat and brought his hands away – oh, it was just the ice shells around his hair, he hadn’t been out here for long enough for his hair to truly freeze. Yet. He pounded his fist on the glass a few more times, painful and useless. Connie was the one who was friends with the neighbors. If _he_ was scared of Marco, who’s to say _what_ the girls that flanked them would say to a relative stranger knocking on their window in the middle of the night?

He slumped against the brick by the window, six feet from his bed and helpless to reach it. He stared up at the pitch black sky, slushy rain coating his face, and wondered how long it took to freeze to death. It’d be slow, creeping on him like the torment of this year, until it pushed him into an undertow that had been lurking just off the shore. Would they rule it as a suicide? Would he join the ghost girl in the basement, so he wouldn’t have to be alone in the afterlife, no matter what shape it took?

He didn’t want to die alone.

He set his jaw and pushed off the building, turning back to the window. Maybe they hadn’t locked it, maybe he could slide it open enough to wiggle his fatass in. He was already slicked up for it. He laid his hands flat on the frozen glass, barely wincing as it seared his palm with its dry ice heat. He grunted as he tried to slide it open, bitten fingernails failing to take hold. His hands still shook from the cold, rattling down into his ribcage, but he couldn’t stop now, he couldn’t, he _couldn’t_ -

The window gave a fraction just as a white spotlight illuminated him from behind. He almost thanked them, glancing over his shoulder – _mierda_. A cop was on the other side of the flashlight, the school’s logo sewn onto his sleeve. Marco’s eyes widened, hands still stuck to the window, as he had a flash of what this looked like to the cop – a hooded Hispanic guy trying to break into a dorm room at night. He backed away from the building, hands in the air by his shoulder.

“She ain’t gonna take ya back if you sneak into her room, son.” Marco blinked – what? Dead grass crunched under police boots as the cop came closer, beam bobbing. “If you hafta try this hard, it just ain’t meant to be.”

Marco shook his head, words caught behind his panicked tongue. “No, I- this is- I’m-” He heart skittered in his chest. “Sorry, officer.”

“Uh-huh.” He lowered the flashlight so Marco could see his face without behind blinded. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t jumping for his gun, either. “You got somewhere to be, kid?” Marco’s throat worked, but words refused to emerge. He shook his head. The cop sighed. “C’mon, son, let’s get you back to the station, you scared the livin’ daylights outta some poor girl ‘cross the way.” Marco nodded, hands still in the air as he crept to the cop’s side, tail between his legs. The cop put a gloved hand on his shoulder and guided him to his squad car, headlights left on. “Good Lord, boy, why you’re soaked to the bone!” Marco wrapped his arms around his torso, curling in with a shiver. “Lordie, what’d that girl _do_ to you?” Marco shook his head, but couldn’t argue as the cop opened the back door of the car and helped Marco slide in, hurrying around to the driver’s side to crank up the heat and aim it at Marco. “C’mon, son, let’s get you dried up and gettin’ home, a’ight?” Marco couldn’t even nod as the cop gave him one last concerned look over his shoulder and drove off. Marco pulled his good knee to his chest and buried his face in his damp sweats.

The cop almost had to get a crowbar to pry his frozen self out of the toasty car, but there was an entrance to the police station (more like an office) through the parking deck, so they didn’t have to go through the rain again. The cop had radioed ahead in the three minute drive through the empty campus streets, so the desk sergeant was waiting with a gym towel and an extra sweatshirt from someone’s locker. Marco submitted to her brisk rubdown, blinking heavy eyes open as she and his cop rattled through a tumbling conversation full of lingo, drowned out by the heartbeat thrumming in his head. It wasn’t the same lady from when he’d picked up Sasha and Ymir a month ago – no familiar faces for a mile. His numb shell broke to a clawing, aching loneliness that sent his head spinning. He closed his eyes against it and let them guide him to a chair, trailing dirty footprints as their voices swirled around him.

“Should we take him to the hospital?” his cop asked. The lady cop laid her hand on Marco’s.

“Heavens, his fingers are ice cubes.” She sighed. “Let’s give ‘im a minute to thaw out, he can’t have been out there for too awful long.” A soft hand patted Marco’s cheek, and he opened his eyes to the wrinkles of the lady cop’s squished face. “What’s your name, hon?”

Marco licked his lips. “Marco. Bodt.” She nodded, his cop hovering at her shoulder. Marco shuddered – why was he still cold?

“Oh, hon, let’s get you out of this wet thing,” she said, tugging at his jacket’s zipper. He shrugged it off with her held and let her stuff him in the spare sweatshirt, a little baggy even for him. “Paul, make yourself useful and get this boy here some coffee!” she snapped at his cop, who jumped to attention and skittered off to the coffeepot. She hung the gym towel around Marco’s neck and pulled up a plastic chair to fuss over him more, like he wasn’t twice her size. “Hon, can you tell us what happened? You know the Polar Freeze ain’t until February,” she joked, smile weak. Marco shook his head.

“Just- fell.” He worked his fingers, which had started to tingle as they warmed - they hurt from it. “Fell in the duck pond, I was coming home, it was slippery, there was a dead squirrel, I lost my bag, my phone, I-” He coughed, pulled the sleeves of the sweatshirt down over his hands. “I wanna go _home_.”

“Yes, baby, it’s okay, we’ll get you there.” She rubbed her hands down his arms. “You poor dear.” His cop came back with a paper cup of coffee, which she took and pressed into Marco’s hands, making sure he gripped it before she let go. He stared into it - black. “Is there anyone we could call for you, sweetie? A friend, maybe a professor?”

He gulped the coffee, its heat burning down his throat into his stomach, bitter scalding his nose. He gasped, still unable to get enough air into his lungs. “I lost my phone.”

“Yes, darlin’, I know, but maybe someone local? I know you kids forget about it, but we’ve still got a phone book knockin’ around here somewhere.” He blinked at her, and she smiled. “Drink your coffee, hon.”

He nodded and obeyed, sipping at it as its heat spread its tendrils through his body. But he couldn’t stop shaking. He wanted cream in this coffee.

“Yeah.” He finished off the coffee – she handed off the cup for more. “Yeah, there’s someone I can call.”

There was only one Kirschstein in town, according to the White Pages. Marco wasn’t sure if he could’ve handled trying to guess which one was Jean’s dad. The lady cop helped him dial out from her desk phone, then stepped away to talk to his cop in low voices he tuned out as the dial tone rang in his ear.

It rang three times before someone picked up. “ _Hello?_ ”

“Uh, hi.” Marco swallowed – it was a male voice, not Dr. Rhodes and sort of sounded like Jean, but Marco bit his cheek and asked, “Is Jean there?”

The other speaker huffed into the phone. “ _May I say who’s calling?_ ”

Marco breathed in deep through his nose. “Marco. Tell him it’s Marco.”

A pause, then a muffled, “ _Jay, there’s a Marco on the phone for you?_ ” Another pause. “ _Yes,_ really _. You gonna come get it?_ ” A long sigh that migrated into full volume. “ _He’s on his way down,_ ” the speaker said into the receiver just before there was a scuffle and Jean’s voice shooed him away.

“ _Hey, Marco, what’s up, you okay there?_ ” Jean asked, breathless. The loneliness balloon filling up Marco’s chest popped, the tension he didn’t know he was holding leaking out down his spine.

“No, hi, I’m kind of not okay.” Marco covered his eyes with his free hand, rubbing at his temple. “Can you – are you free?”

“ _Shit, of course I am. Where you need me to be, I can be there in five, shit.”_ There were faint rustles and thumps on the other end. Marco felt a smile hovering just out of reach.

“Do you know where the campus police station is?”

“ _Holy_ fuck _, Mar, what’d you get into?_ ” He huffed, a string of static into the phone. “ _Yeah, boy, I’ll be there, don’t you worry. You need me to bring anything?_ ”

Marco buried his fingers in his still-damp hair. “A towel would be nice.”

“ _Bless your heart, you sound like you got hit by a truck_.” A pause while Jean juggle the phone. “ _A’ight, I gotta hang up now since y’all called me at_ my house _which I’m sure is a flippin’ fanatastic story, but I’m fixin’ to leave right now so I’ll be there before you can blink. Got it_? _”_

Marco nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here.”

“ _Good, okay, just hold on tight, a’ight, big guy? I’ll be_ right _down._ ” Jean paused; Marco bit his lip. “ _Okay. Bye now._ ”

“Okay.” A click, then the droning hum of a hangup. Marco placed the phone back in its cradle and shoved his hands under his thighs, head bowed against a wave of nausea rushing in.

The lady cop’s soft hand rested on his back, rubbing it. “They coming for ya?” Marco nodded.

“Yeah. He’s on his way.” He swallowed on his dry throat. She set a bottle of water on the table in front of him.

“You take your time now, hon.” He nodded, hands fumbling to unscrew the top. She stopped him before he could spill it all and soak him even more, doing it for him and waiting until he’d gulped some down before leaving him to whisper more about him to his cop.

He’d gotten halfway through the bottle between sucking breaths and crashing nausea tides when Jean burst into the station, short red hair dusted with melting snow and flush blotchy under his firebright eyes. Marco looked up and made eye contact through his bangs. Jean’s face twisted, and he crossed the room in strides as big as his chickenlegs would allow, crouching in front of Marco, hands on Marco’s knees. “God Almighty, boy, you look like _shit_.” Marco jerked – a laugh. Jean squeezed his good knee.

“I’m guessin’ you’re his emergency contact?” the cop lady asked. Jean scowled and broke their spell to scowl over his shoulder at her.

“I am _now_.” She put her hands on her hips.

“Now there ain’t no reason to be snippy, mister, Paul here found him tryin’ to break into East like this.”

Jean growled. “That’s where he _lives_ , ma’am.” Jean snapped the damp gym towel from around Marco’s neck and tossed it onto the desk, then unfolded the bath towel tucked under his arm, white and fluffy. He laid it across Marco’s lap, hands gentle even as he glared murder at the hovering officers. “They ain’t hurt you, did they?” he murmured, fingers petting Marco’s wrists blindly. Marco shook his head, and Jean turned his back on the cops to look at him. Marco flipped his hands over to grip Jean’s forearms, the lonely-balloon’s helium still leaking away from its pinhole. “No, it wasn’t them.” He swallowed. “Just me.”

Jean glanced down at his tremoring hands. “Sweetie pie, ain’t nothin’ your fault.”

Marco wrenched his hands away to scratch at his scalp and rub feeling into his face. “It _was_ , it wasn’t even _anything_ , I’ve just been so _stupid_ this semester and everything _sucks_ , I just-” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to calm his storm. “M’sorry.”

“No, no, darlin’, look at me.” Jean’s calloused fingers pried Marco’s off his face. Marco breathed, Jean’s face swimming. “You ain’t gotta ‘pologize for nothin’. I’m right here for ya, a’ight, sugar?”

Marco nodded, nodded – shook his head. Jean caught his face in his hands to still him, brushing his thumbs over Marco’s cheeks. “Listen to me, sugar.” Jean waited until Marco blinked his unshed tears back – where were these coming from? But Jean just brushed them away. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon, a’ight? I’m stickin’ right here while we work through this little bump in your road, ‘cause you’re gonna get through this.” Jean made Marco nod until he started doing it himself, reaching up to hold Jean’s wrists. “You’re so close, honey, an’ things are only gonna look up from here.” Jean gave him a minute just to sit and breathe, sit and breathe, running thin fingers over his face in slow, small circles.

When Marco’s grip relaxed on Jean, he slipped his hands away and stood, leaving Marco cold again. “I’m gonna have a few words with the police here, then we’re gonna bust this joint.” He nudged Marco’s water bottle on the desk. “You drink that and dry off, y’hear?” Marco nodded and watched his back as he walked away. He was wearing a coat Marco had never seen before, light brown leather and knee-length, over a pair of sweatpants that didn’t quite connect with his beat-up Vans. Marco drank his water on autopilot as he stared at Jean’s ankles, blue flashing – he wasn’t wearing socks.

It was quieter now than it was when he’d come into the station, or maybe his jackhammer heartbeat was turning down in his head. Jean was arguing about something, dotted with ‘yes sir’s and ‘no ma’am’s, but it didn’t matter. Just watching his face shift settled down Marco’s roiling sea.

Marco polished off the water and stood, draping the towel over his head to work out the worst of the rain. When he took it off, Jean was waiting, arms crossed. “Better?” he asked. Marco nodded – he still felt like he’d just lost in double overtime, but at least his heart wasn’t threatening to explode anymore. He just felt… tired.  Jean cleared his throat. “I talked to them and they ain’t gonna let y’all into your dorm without proof you’re a student an’ _I_ said to go check the football roster but they’ve got some bullshit process and we gotta wait until the housing office opens up in the morning and you’re gonna be locked out for the night.” Jean laid a hand on Marco’s elbow. “If you ain’t got another place to crash, we’ve got a guest room just collectin’ dust. It ain’t kosher, but I’d much rather Momma pitch a hissyfit than for you gettin’ left out like this.”

Marco considered it. He considered it _hard_ , from the light touch at his elbow to their foot-apart toes to Jean’s new hair that he wanted to _touch_. He balled his fists at his sides.

“There’s a place I can go.” He swallowed. “A few friends have a house. Not far.”

Jean nodded, hand falling. “The wunderkind, right?” Marco nodded. “A’ight, if you’re stone-cold sure.” He nodded again.

“They owe me.” Jean grinned.

“I’ll let you tell me about that on a better day.” He slung Marco’s wet jacket over his shoulder and tilted his head at Marco. “What’d’ya say to me feedin’ ya before I drop you off?”

Marco’s stomach yawned - he hadn’t eaten since the Powerbar before practice. “Okay.”

Jean put a hand on Marco’s back and guided him out, smiling at the waiting cops. “Thank ye kindly for findin’ my boy here, but I’ll take it from here on out, officers,” he said, saccharine, and Marco didn’t have the will to tell him it wasn’t anything to do with them or apologize for his behavior. Later. When he brought the sweatshirt back, maybe.

He wrapped the towel around his shoulders like the blanket he wanted it to be as they pushed out into the sheltered chill of the parking deck. Marco shivered; Jean wrapped his arm further around his waist and led him to the sunshine burst of his Mustang. Marco dropped his hand on Jean’s opposite shoulder for balance. “Thank you,” Marco mumbled as Jean unlocked the car, lights flashing. Jean paused, hand in the door handle, and looked up at him, faces a foot apart.

“Of course, sugar.” He smiled. “You know I’d hang the moon for ya.” Marco sucked in a breath – they were already so laced together – he curled his arm in and kissed him, the perfect height, Jean’s mouth rough under his. Jean gripped Marco’s borrowed sweatshirt and kissed him back, sighing into him as Marco reached up to brush his hair, his ear-

Jean jerked back, gasping. “We need to do that later, now’s a bad time, a _very_ bad time, holy shit.” Marco’s stomach curled up, and he buried his face in Jean’s shoulder.

“I know, I know, I’m _sorry_ , I just…” He held Jean close, sharp angles and points and buttons against his stomach. Jean laughed, crazy-edged, and patted Marco’s back. “M’sorry.”

“The devil are you _sorry_ for? I’ve wanted to do that for _months_.” Marco laughed, a heave and a hiccup. His fingers were still in Jean’s hair, softer than his mouth. Jean shushed him, running hands up and down his back. “I was gonna do somethin’ crazy like catch you after the final and make out in the ‘lectrical closet,” he murmured, “but I guess this works, too.”

“We can still do that,” Marco mumbled into Jean’s shoulder. Jean laughed, head thrown back, and Marco’s heart filled. He lifted his head to watch Jean laugh, petting the new buzz still as Jean settled down. “I like your new hair,” Marco said.

Jean smiled, brilliant. “So do I.” He held Marco at arm’s length to look him over. “Now, sugar, you look a right mess, you know that?” Marco huffed, hands falling to his sides. “G’on now, let’s get you fed, a’ight?”

Marc nodded, letting Jean hand him into the car. “Where’re we going?” he asked, lacing their fingers together for a hot second. Jean grinned and ruffled his hair, straightening the towel around his shoulders.

“Waffle House. You look like you could use an All-Star Special,” he said, slamming the door shut.

* * *

Mikasa was very confused when she answered the door an hour or so later, but accepted Marco’s story and let him crash on the pullout, Eren and Armin already sequestered upstairs doing… whatever it was they did. She dug out some clothes of his he’d left after a game a while ago while he stripped off his outer layers. His socks and shoes were still damp even after an hour under a Waffle House table. She let him change while she mixed up some powdered hot chocolate. Warm, dry, and full of breakfast grease, Marco could smile again as he sat in the center of the pullout, blanket around his shoulders. Mikasa joined him, legs folded under her as the pullout mattress creaked with their combined weight, and handed over his mug. She watched him sip it and sigh.

“You gonna tell me who that was? Or what the hell happened to you since practice? Why didn’t you text us?”

“I lost my phone, and everything else.” He twisted his mug around to get to the marshmallows disintegrating in his hot chocolate “I fell in the duck pond.”

“You _fell?_ ” He nodded. She sat back on one hand, raising her eyebrows over her mug. “And you _sure_ you ain’t drunk.” He shook his head. She frowned at him long enough to make him squirm, but then she sighed and shrugged in the direction of the front door. “Well, you’re never lied to me before.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the front door. “Who’s the ginger?”

Marco huffed. “He’s not a natural redhead, y’know.” She shrugged. Marco ran a hand through his hair. “He’s my physics TA.”

She took a long, slow sip of her hot chocolate, flat eyes staring him down over the rim. He looked away, mouth burning. “And here I thought you were the only simple boy in my life,” she mumbled around ceramic. Marco shrugged – his marshmallows were gone. She sighed, eyes closing. “Well, I’ve learned my lesson about assuming huh?” She reached over and patted his ankle before standing, careful not to spill her drink. “Well, I’ll let you rest up, and we can talk more in the morning.”

Marco nodded – wait. “Oh, I should tell my roommate what’s up, I don’t want him to worry too much-” He reached for his phone and grasped at nothing. Right. “Uh.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes with a small smile. “Lemme get my laptop, I’ll find him on facebook for you.” Marco chuckled.

“Think this’ll be the thing that finally makes me care and set up my own facebook?”

Mikasa shrugged. “That sounds like it’s up to you.”

* * *

To his credit, Connie was distraught when he learned about Marco’s night, picking him up from the house early the next morning and accompanying him around campus as he tried to pull his life back together. He even waded through the duck pond as they tried to find Marco’s bag, laughing through chattering teeth when Sasha joined in, snorkel mask strapped on over her hat. They found it against the fountain’s nozzle just before two landscapers showed up to kick them out, yelling and pointing at the ‘No Swimming’ sign, but Sasha laughed and hauled Marco along by the wrist, Connie with his bag as they dripped and tripped and ran back to their dorm. Marco couldn’t stop his smile, through on to Jean’s laid-back review session that evening, where he brought a platter of his mother’s stress cookies for those that showed up and kept staring at Marco, grinning through crumbs and chalk dust.

Marco hadn’t known how heavy he’d been feeling until the weight was lifted. One stolen kiss in the parking deck had cleaned out the clutter and debris clogging up his head and set him free, floating through his last classes in a way he hadn’t since elementary school. His knee still bothered him; while they’d recovered his keys and wallet from the duck pond, nothing else in his bag was savable; he still had to talk to his advisor about his academic future; his parents would be pissed that he’d lost his phone before the contract was up – but none of that seemed to matter as much as it used to. He had people to back him up when things went sour, and that was all he really needed.

He made a facebook account that evening. His first friends were Sasha and Connie, since they were in the room when he did it, but his third request went to his brother.

* * *

It was Friday midday of the last week of the fall semester, and Marco was in his final physics lecture, one eye on Dr. Rhodes’s question and answer at another on his laptop, that barely fit on the tiny desk. Friend requests had been flooding in as suggestions got around the site. He’d only had his profile for two days and already had fifty-three friends, with a dozen more waiting for him to remember where he knew them from. A new red ‘1’ popped up while he was checking one of them out – a message. From Felipe?

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:20am  
I THOUGHT YOU SAID GOING GAY MADE LIFE EASIER

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:20am  
now I never said that  
also why arent you in school??

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:20am  
I am im just on a proxy on a class laptop its a free study

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:21am  
ok so what happened

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:21am  
CORTEZ KISSED ME IN THE HALLWAY LIKE CASUAL AS FUCK AND PEOPLE SAW WHAT DO????

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:21am  
theres no reason to yell

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:21am  
AND STOP LAUGHING AT ME GDI

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:22am  
if you want me to stop laughing at you then stop overreacting to everything  
arent you supposed to be convincing when you fake-date someone?

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:22am  
NOT THIS CONVINCING

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:22am  
did you like it?

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:22am  
BESIDES THE POINT

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:22am  
I think that’s exactly the point hermanito

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:22am  
FUCK YOU PUTO

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:23am  
dont get mad at me for you falling for your fake bf

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:23am  
fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkk

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:23am  
when I get home next week we can talk about it  
but for now. chill.

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:23am  
whatever fu you cant even get a date with ur student teacehr

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:24am  
well talk when i get home

 **Felipe Bodt** December 5 at 11:24am  
WHAT  
UGH OMG LUNCH WE WILL TALK LATER

 **Marco Bodt** December 5 at 11:25am  
hahahaha sure feli

Marco sighed and sat back in his desk. Sasha glanced over from doodling swirls on her pencil pouch with a Sharpie. “ _What?_ ” she stage-whispered. Marco rolled his eyes and turned his laptop to face her. She leant over and read the message history, snorting, then pulled out her notebook and flipped to a random blank page.

**your bro is a treat**

_always_

**no further news on the article D: I still won’t let me read it!**

_are journalists superstitious?_

**no she’s just a bitch**

**if it isn’t positive I’ll shortsheet her bed for you**

_sweet, but I think I can manage_

Someone slipped in the back door of the lecture hall and dropped down in the empty desk between Marco and the aisle. He glanced over and met orange eyes and a mismatched smile. Marco smiled back, a slow spread that tingled through his stomach. Jean wove his fingers behind his head and stretched out, crossing his ankles on the back of the empty chair in front of him as he watched his mom teach. But he leant just a fraction towards Marco. Marco’s heart pattered as the piercing in Jean’s ear flashed in the halogen lights – he faced forward, crossing his arms over his chest. To his left, Sasha was waggling her eyebrows and Ymir was judging him over Sasha’s head. He curled a lip at them and pulled up the hood of the police sweatshirt (yeah, he’d decided he needed a souvenir), slapping his laptop shut and slipping further down in his seat. He watched Dr. Rhodes write across the board and back again without absorbing any of it. It was stuff he knew anyway, from one of Jean’s many impromptu lectures during their long office hours together.

A paper crane made out of a blue sticky note landed in his lap. He glanced at Jean, who couldn’t bite back a grin and a flush as he stared straight ahead, and picked it up – there were words written on it, but he couldn’t read them for the creases. He glanced at Sasha, who had given up on them doing anything interesting, and unfolded it in his lap. He smiled, and Jean’s blue foot knocked against his.

He could get used to this.


	14. Article

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: Ditto the last a/n lol... I don't care if Ilse has a last name in canon, she is now a Culpepper. Art by me! [More art by me here!](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com/tagged/art) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

**Breaking the football player mold**

_Marco Bodt speaks out about being the “gay football player” and more_

Created on 5 December 2010

 

The football team has had quite the season.

They won every home game, rushed for school record yards, and made national television. Those who kept track of the team would attribute this success to Marco Bodt, the junior running back with the highest average yards per game and whose flipping touchdown against Virginia Tech caught the attention of ESPN.

What may be less obvious to link to this pillar of the offense is the rumor of a gay player that has been circulating around campus.

“Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal to me,” Bodt said on the topic. “If no one else made a deal about it I wouldn’t care.”

Bodt, 20, is a Miami boy of Guatemalan heritage with two younger siblings. He recently switched from environmental science to fermentation sciences, colloquially called “the beer major”.

“Enviro sci just wasn’t doing it for me, but I’ve never liked the idea of a ‘football major’,” he said. “I was ready to try something different when a friend told me – well, shoved me – at this program.”

Fermentation sciences, a program that combines brewery, winery, and entrepreneurship, will be officially available as a course of study in the spring semester. Bodt is one of thirty students chosen to fill the flagship class of 2012.

“There’s no reason ‘gay’ or ‘smart’ and ‘football player’ have to be mutually exclusive,” Bodt said on the stigma of a “football major”. “I’m not sure the non-varsity public truly understands how much _work_ goes into being a part of a major sports team… It’s hard to blame them – us – for wanting to have something the easy way.”

“Just because I’m good at a sport doesn’t mean I’m dumb or lazy or homophobic. I didn’t keep [my sexuality] hidden because I was scared or repressed, I just didn’t want a stir over something that’s no one’s business to begin with.”

His teammates, he said, took the news “surprisingly well”.

“I think they figured it out on their own ages ago,” he laughed, “but they were waiting for me to say something first. …There’s some really spot-on guys on the team.”

For all that Bodt is a standard on the field, having started in games as early as his freshman year, he’s humble about his role in campus culture.

“It’s my sport, not my job,” he said when asked if he would pursue a professional career. “It’s paying for college, sure, but I’m not crazy enough to think I can play after graduation. I’m just lucky, I guess.”

Bodt was injured for the middle of the season and so missed two games, but if he had played he could have led the team in rushing yards by the length of a field. As it stands, for the games he did appear in, he had the highest average rushing yards of the offense, even beating the true freshman prodigy quarterback, Eren Jaeger.

“I like football and I know I’m good at it, but I’ve never wanted it to be my entire life,” he said. “I’m just sick of the tag ‘for a football player’ being added to all of my positive qualities… It’s part of who I am, but it’s not _all_ of me.”

“And I know you’re itching to ask, and no, I don’t have a boyfriend,” he said with a laugh. “Where would I find one?”

**Story: ILSE CULPEPPER, News Reporter**


End file.
